


If You're Gonna Hit Me, Hit Me Harder (Cause You Better Knock Me Out the First Time)

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Category: Doctor Who, Good Omens (TV), Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Magnus Bane is Nephilim, Oh My God, The only character tag option for Lucifer was for the Good Omens Lucifer, Warlock children of Fallen Angels are actually Nephilim, but he's more the Shadowhunters Lucifer than the Good Omens Lucifer, can someone tell me why Thirteenth Doctor (Fatal Death) is a character tag option?, my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-08-19 21:42:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20216737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: Magnus encounters an old friend on his walk through the city, it changes everything.





	1. Miracles Can Be Known to Happen

**Author's Note:**

> This was chapter (5??) of the Game We Call Love wip fic dump. I finally managed to write more for it. :D :D :D Those of you who read the entry in the Game We Call Love can skip to chapter two if you want, this first chapter is just that little bit. 
> 
> I SHOULD be writing an assignment for uni due next Friday or writing an Expression of Interest for this secondment I want at work that's due THIS Friday. But instead I'm writing this. Go figure. 
> 
> The Good Omens Apocalypse happened earlier, back in 2016 a few months before the Shadowhunters one. Crowley and Aziraphale kind of fled England to America and are trying VERY BADLY to hide from their former employers.
> 
> Fic title taken from Power by Bastille.

Magnus wanders aimlessly along the streets he’s come to know like the back of his hand. No destination in mind, not really, it’s… everywhere he looks a memory is lurking, ready to leap out at him and make him think of…

Someone who shall be consigned to the darkness of time, with all the rest.

He’s learned his lesson, over and over and yet he still makes the same, stupid decisions. Love is nothing but heartbreak and pain, the kind of pain that festers and leaves a mark that never heals.

He was an idiot to think this time would be any different, especially since this time he chose… well his choices have always left him wanting in the end, haven’t they?

“Magnus?” he jumps at the voice, and turns to stare at someone he hadn’t, honestly, expected to see for a long time.

“Azzy?” he mumbles, confused and more than a little lightheaded. How long _has_ he been walking?

“Oh, my dear, you look a mess! What’s happened?” Aziraphale exclaims, crossing to his side, he looks as put together as he always has.

“I lost my magic in a deal with my father, and I lost my home in a deal with the warlock who replaced me as High Warlock of Brooklyn… and my boyfriend just broke up with me.” Magnus replies, not sure why he does it, not sure why he lets Aziraphale wrap him up in a hug, but he _does._ Sinks into it like he’s a drowning man and Aziraphale is his life ring.

“Oh dear, you’re not having a very good time of things are you, darling?” Aziraphale asks, before frowning. “Well, come along, then. I’ll put you up for a bit.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in London? Your bookshop?” Magnus answers, even as he lets Aziraphale lead him away, one arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Oh, I do love the bookshop, but I’m taking a bit of a break.” Aziraphale replies, leading Magnus along. Magnus doesn’t honestly pay much attention to where they are or even where they end up, he knows that at some point Azzy leads him inside out of the cold, but Magnus couldn’t tell you what the angel’s home looks like on the outside, he barely takes not of the inside as Aziraphale leads him off to a bedroom and all but pushes him down onto the bed. “You’re a bit in shock, aren’t you?”

“I think so.” Magnus mumbles in reply, but hums. “I’ll be fine after I sleep.”

“Right then. If I’m not around when you wake up, make yourself at home, dearest.” Azzy promises, tucking him in and leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Magnus sighs into the darkness and closes his eyes and suddenly knows no more.

* * *

Magnus wakes to the sound of quiet, muffled voices and he lets out a little sigh, rolling over in bed to complain about his guests, before he suddenly remembers that he has no home, that he is in fact, the guest. He huffs and sits up, listening closer to the voices.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Crowley? Just leave him to wander the streets? He’s a child!” Aziraphale’s voice exclaims, Magnus makes a face at being called a child, he hasn’t been a child for centuries, thank you very much.

“He’s eight hundred years old! Also, might I remind you that his _father _is a _prince of hell. _We’re trying to avoid them at the moment, or don’t you recall, angel?” Crowley’s voice retorts, and Magnus smiles at the sound of it.

“You don’t have to remind me! I might not be on active duty anymore, but I’m _still_ an angel! I’m not going to leave him on the streets when I can easily offer him shelter! He has no magic, Crowley!”

“Yes, and how fucking _stupid_ was that? Nephilim are more powerful than their parents by half, they always have been! I don’t want to know what his father is getting up to with his son’s power added to his own, Aziraphale. I really don’t.” Magnus frowns and looks down at his hands. _Nephilim? _

“Well, he doesn’t know that he’s Nephilim now, does he? None of them do!”

“And whose fault is that?”

“We all agreed it was for the best, and it ended the war… for a time. Now Adam has given us all yet more time to figure something out.”

“Not if those Morgenstern children have anything to say about it!”

“Yes, well, I hope to avert their apocalypse, as well. It’s only been a few months since the last one, are we not due for some peace?”

Magnus tires of eavesdropping and quietly gets out of bed, he goes to magic himself into fresh clothing before he sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, remembering he no longer _has _magic. So, instead, he continues to breathe deeply as he opens his eyes and tries to make himself as presentable as possible, before he steps out into the living room. He finds Crowley sprawled across an armchair, and Aziraphale sitting primly on the couch. Both of them turn to look at him as he enters the room, and he feels something in his heart when Crowley’s snake eyes land on him, a fond smile forming on his face.

“You really don’t have any magic, do you?” Crowley questions, when Magnus’ warlock mark doesn’t reveal itself, the way it always has whenever he looks at Crowley’s demon mark. Magnus shrugs his shoulders and goes to sit down on the couch, on the other end from Azzy. “Alright, angel, do your miracle.”

“But I-I _can’t_.” Azzy exclaims, looking between Magnus and Crowley with a great deal of anxiety.

“Angel, think about it this way. If we leave his father with his magic, he’ll become a threat to everything we’re working towards. If you give him back his magic, at least some of his father’s plans are thwarted. Think of it as restoring balance, especially since we can’t have the Nephilim getting worried over their powers again.” Crowley points out, rolling his head along the back of the armchair to look at Azzy.

“They don’t even remember the scope of their powers.” Aziraphale replies, crossing his arms over his chest before sighing heavily and looking heavenward.

“Don’t you go praying now, we’re trying to keep their attention away from us.” Crowley grumbles, but Azzy just ignores him, before finally turning to Magnus with a frown on his face. He sighs again and snaps his fingers and Magnus gasps as he suddenly feels his magic rushing back into him.

“There, now don’t go giving that away again, dearest.” Aziraphale tells him, a stern look on his face, that causes a fond smile to form on Magnus’ lips.

“I won’t.” he promises, because he definitely will _not. _Absolutely _nothing _is worth the loss of his powers. Nothing.


	2. I Can Remember (All the Good Things You Are)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus makes an oopsie, Crowley reminisces, and we learn how to saunter vaguely downwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Fiddle and the Drum by Tool

Things seem to happen quickly, Magnus is still reeling from having his magic suddenly returned to him, and still mulling over the conversation he overheard, when he receives a warning from Catarina that a rift has opened over Alicante. He doesn’t really think about it before he’s forming a portal, stepping through and looking up at the rift torn through the sky above them.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever really get over the terror he feels whenever he sees his demonic siblings. They are wholly demonic, formed of his father’s magic and wrath, and none of his blood, none of his love, and Magnus knows his father does love him, in a way that only makes sense to his father.

Love confuses them, angels, fallen or otherwise. He knows this, after centuries upon centuries of watching Aziraphale and Crowley chase each other’s coat tails but never understanding why, and never really figuring out that they’re equally as devoted to each other. Love confuses angels, makes them uncertain of themselves and everything else around them. Once he understood that, he figured out how to see the love his father had for him. But his siblings know nothing of that love, know nothing of love at all.

His siblings are devourers, they devoured the world Edom had been, until there was nothing but them and the Lilim and their destroyed land. His siblings will devour Earth, if they let it. He won’t let it, _can’t_. That sort of cowardice isn’t in him. So, he looks up at the rift, feels the magic rumbling through his veins, feels the magic of Edom pulling at him through the rift, and he closes his eyes.

He thinks over the conversation he heard his uncles discussing when they thought he was sleeping. Thinks over everything that they implied but never specifically said. Nephilim are stronger than their angelic parents. Nephilim are the children of angels and mundanes. His father is a fallen angel. His mother was a mundane. _He is Nephilim. _

He breathes in deeply and wills his magic to do as he wishes, wills it to close the rift, seal it, close it so it will never open again. He doesn’t expect the rift to be so strong, the one he’d closed on the beach was strong but no match for his magic, but this one is… incredible. Already he feels it pulling at him, threatening to engulf him if he lets up for even a second. The danger with trying to close a Hell Rift is the risk that if you aren’t strong enough, it will drain the magic and the life out of you, until you die a horrible, painful death.

He feels the warmth of his blood trickling from his nose, and down the side of his face from his ears, but he has to ignore it and focus only on the portal, even as he feels his magic being drained way, feels his lungs constricting in his chest, as air becomes harder to breathe. Even as he feels his eyes burn as blood slips through his closed eye lids.

“Is it the demon influence that causes you all to be so reckless?” he hears a familiar voice ask in his ear, as a strong hand grips his own, holding tightly and he feels an influx of strength rushing through him.

“You cannot blame this on me!” Another voice exclaims, as another hand takes his free one. “Blame his father.”

“His father isn’t a reckless fool, or he wasn’t when I last knew him.”

“Oh, and when did _you _last know the Prince of Lust?”

“Crowley!”

Magnus zones them out, focuses his full attention on the rift, lets their bickering voices become soothing background noise, until suddenly the rift seals itself shut. He wobbles in place, reaches out, forms a portal back to Aziraphale and Crowley’s home and goes to step through it to collapse and sleep for a century, when he coughs suddenly, and a stream of blood spills onto the ground beneath him. He stares at it in fascinated confusion, swaying back and forward, his head cocked to the side to contemplate the blood.

“Magnus?” a familiar voice calls from somewhere far away but he doesn’t look at them, as he throws up more blood. He blinks, suddenly finds strong arms wrapped around him, smelling of hellfire and brimstone.

“Oops.” He mumbles, before the darkness takes him and he sinks fully into Crowley’s arms.

* * *

He flits back and forward between consciousness and unconsciousness, never quite aware enough to take part in anything occurring in the world around him. Until finally, the fog seems to clear, and he surfaces back into the world of consciousness, aware of where he is and what has happened.

“Oh, look who has finally decided to re-join the land of the living.” He hears Crowley’s familiar voice drawl and he groans, forcing himself to open his eyes. “There you go.”

“What happened?” he mumbles frowning at Crowley. “Why was the rift so strong?”

“You remember that Jonathan Morgenstern was searching for the Morning Star Sword?” Crowley questions, causing Magnus to nod. “Right, you’re probably still a little bit slow, lad. But who does the Morning Star Sword belong to?”

“Lucifer.”

“Correct. So, whose power do you think flows through the Morning Star Sword?” Crowley queries again, causing Magnus to feel about one inch tall and an absolute idiot.

“Lucifer’s.”

“Correct. Why did you think you had the power to face Lucifer?” Crowley asks, narrowing his golden eyes. “I’m certain you heard Zira and I speaking about your being Nephilim and how Nephilim are stronger than their angelic parents. What you failed to understand is that is _simply and exactly _what that means. Were I ever to have a child, they would be strong enough to stand against Lucifer, but never to beat him, they would be his equal like any child of Gabriel would be, also. Only Michael’s children, and Lucifer’s son, Adam, would be strong enough to beat Lucifer.”

“Why your child?” Magnus queries, brows furrowing in immense confusion, especially when Crowley seems to flinch.

“I…” the demon pauses, cocking his head to the side as if listening, before sighing heavily. “Before my fall, I was known as Raphael.” He says, and Magnus can’t help the gasp that falls from his lips.

“How did you Fall?” he exclaims, shock and something a little like awe rippling through him, it was believed that Raphael died in the war, not that he Fell.

“I was a healer.” Crowley answers, looking away from him, into memories Magnus cannot see. “I was impartial, my siblings were at war, and I chose to take neither side. I would heal any who needed me. At the start of the war, that was perfectly accepted. Both sides even had rules in place to protect me and those like me.”

“What changed?” Magnus asks, when the demon falls silent.

“Gabriel and Michael began to get… twitchy.” Crowley answers, shrugging his shoulders. “They determined that if I was not with them, with Heaven, then I was against them, against Heaven. I tried to ignore it, but their mistrust spread throughout Heaven, until I began to spend more and more time with Lucifer and his people just for some normality. Then, one day, I tried to go home and felt my wings burning the moment I stepped foot in Heaven, I threw myself out of there as quickly as I could.”

“Why did you change your name?”

“No one in Hell recognized me when I Fell. My wings were all but burnt husks by the time I landed in Hell, I shifted into my serpentine form for protection. The demons who saw me, named me Crawley, and I let them. You lose your name in Hell and do not carry a new one until someone names you.” Crowley explains, breathing in deeply. “Lucifer, of course, remembers. We were the first three angels in existence, he, Michael and I.”

“What was my father’s name, before?” Magnus asks, eyes shining with this new information, he’d always assumed that Asmodeus wasn’t his father’s true name, had assumed that he wouldn’t be named Wrath Demon while still an angel.

“Lucifer was the Archangel Samael, he stood in judgement of those who sinned and he stood against evil. In the first instance, nothing has been changed. Asmodeus was the Archangel Anael, the angel of love and representative of our Mother’s joy and pleasure. When he Fell, he twisted that all up, became the Prince of Lust in all of its forms, until eventually he was named Asmodeus. The Wrath Demon.” Crowley explains, his voice heavy, but he himself seems lighter as he speaks. Magnus wonders if he’s _ever _spoken of this before.

“Are all the Princes Fallen Archangels?”

“Yes, as one of us Fell, another would rise to take our place in Heaven to stand in opposition until there were seven Princes and seven Archangels. As above, so below.” Crowley answers, with an amused smile. “Satan is the Prince of Wrath, in heaven she was the Archangel Remiel, the angel of hope. When she Fell, her hopes turned to ashes, and her love turned to rage. Beelzebub, the Prince of Gluttony, she replaced Remiel, became Archangel Raguel, the angel of justice and balance. When she Fell, she took that balance and she tipped it to the edge of excess, more for those who did not need it, less for those who did.” Crowley pauses here, to look out the window, up towards the stars twinkling in the night sky.

“Mammon, the Prince of Greed, she replaced Samael, became Archangel Barachiel, the angel of blessings. When she Fell, she took that and turned it into something nasty, cursed those amongst Men to always want more than was their right to have. Belphegor, the Prince of Sloth, they replaced your father, became the Archangel Jegudiel, the angel of praise to the Almighty. When they Fell, they twisted it all up, made it ugly, praise given for works that would sow disruption amongst Man for the least amount of work.”

“That sounds like Capitalism.” Magnus mutters, getting a laugh from Crowley.

“Yes, that was dear Belphegor’s work, alright.” The demon confirms before sighing heavily and slumping forward to leans his arms on the bed. “That leaves Leviathan, the Prince of Envy. They’re me, it’s the name I use when I _must _interact with Lucifer and the others. I was the Archangel Raphael, the angel of healing and indifference. When I Fell, I twisted that indifference up, ensured that when I journeyed into the realms of Men, they wanted what others had or they wished that if they could not have it, no one could.”

“Does Azzy know?” Magnus queries, looking towards the doorway with a frown. “Where is he, anyway?”

“No one knows, Magnus.” Crowley answers, rolling his eyes. “Zira has taken it upon himself to find your ex-boyfriend and ensure he doesn’t believe you are dead, since apparently no one else decided that was a thing they should do.”

"What?"

"You've been asleep for over a week, and for some reason the 'Nephilim' think you're dead? The warlocks are keeping Mum about it, including to your ex-boyfriend."

“What?!” Magnus exclaims, feeling his magic rise, before an immense pain shoots through him.

“Oh, I should have warned you against doing that, shouldn't I?” he hears Crowley say, before he gives into blissful unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yehep, Crowley could probably avoid MOST of the shit that happens to him in Good Omens re Hastur and Ligur AND Beelzebub if he'd been honest that he's the Motherfucking Leviathan, but he figured that'd be more trouble than it's worth... because then he'd have to explain to Aziraphale, since what I didn't cover is the fact that Gabriel and Michael, after causing Raphael to fall, turned him into a Martyr, acted like the Fallen killed him and broke their accord that Healers weren't to be touched...


	3. Love (It Will Not Betray You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale meets his first Lightwood, Magnus and Crowley talk about love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this chapter to be longer, but then my guilt took over and I started working on my stuff for work and Uni, so uhm, have this until the other stuff is done...
> 
> Chapter title from Sigh No More, by Mumford and Sons

Aziraphale finds the New York Institute by following the glow of Celestial energy Raziel’s Nephilim seem to leave behind them wherever they go. He just looks for the brightest concentration of it and goes there. Getting past the guards at the door takes a bit of work, but nothing a little miracle can’t fix. However, apparently finding Alexander Lightwood, the Head of the Institute isn’t as easy as you’d think, especially when you’ve gone _to _the Institute. Instead, he gets directed to what he thinks might actually be the armory, a fact confirmed when he steps through the doors and finds himself surrounded by hundreds of adamas weapons, the metal these Nephilim have claimed as their own.

“Hello, I’m looking for Alexander Lightwood, I was told you could help me?” he says to the young woman labouring over a _very _old book. He startles when she turns to him and he sees gold flickering in her eyes, and the fire that crackles beneath her skin, a roaring gold that travels in her blood. “Dear, are you aware that you’re currently burning with Holy Fire?” he queries, having not seen Holy Fire on Earth in centuries, not counting the very brief encounter with his own sword.

“H-how did you know?” she queries, pushing onto her feet from the stool she’d been sitting on.

“Err.” Aziraphale shuffles nervously on his feet, before glancing at the doorway and sighing. He lets his wings and his halo become visible for just a second, before hiding them away again. It’s long enough, as he watches her eyes go wide, the gold flashing once again.

“You’re an angel.” She breathes, he glances out the door again before nodding his head.

“Please do _not _go spreading that around. I’m only letting you know because you are endangering everyone here.” He explains, watching as her brows furrow. “None of you are true Nephilim, if you lose control of that fire, you’ll kill everyone here.”

“Oh.” She exclaims, sinking back down onto the stool. “I thought it was just... Downworlders.”

“No.” Aziraphale answers, rubbing at his forehead. “Right, dear, if you give me your hand, I’ll siphon off enough of the fire that you won’t have to worry about being a ticking time bomb any further. In return, you can tell me where I might find Alexander Lightwood.”

“Alec.” She tells him, causing him to frown. “He prefers Alec.”

“Oh, _right._ Well, help me find Alec Lightwood, then.” He says, offering her his hand, she narrows her eyes at him, before reaching out to place her hand gently into his own. He closes his eyes and concentrates on drawing the fire forth from her body, and immediately letting it be absorbed into his own. Crowley is definitely going to bitch at him about this, but what can you do? Holy fire is harmless to him, these Nephilim? No so much.

“If you help my friend, I’ll take you to my brother.” The girl says, when he has opened his eyes again, he frowns at her, but he knows even before he agrees, that he cannot just ignore someone asking for help.

“What’s wrong with your friend, then?” he queries, letting her hand go and watching as she lifts her hands up in front of her face, turning them this way and that, searching for the fire that is buried deep beneath her skin. “You still have some of the holy fire, but it should only rise up if your life is in danger or if your emotions get the better of you.”

“Sweet! Thanks. I’m Isabelle.” She tells him, with such a beautiful smile it lights up her eyes. Yes, if she’s anything like her brother, he definitely understands how Magnus could have fallen. “Clary upset Angel Raziel, he’s trying to steal her runes and her memories.”

“Oh. That’s a little bit above my pay grade.” Aziraphale explains, shaking his head. “Raziel is an Archangel, I am only a Principality.”

“Well, do you know someone who can help her? She saved us all, ended Jonathan’s apocalypse and Raziel decided to punish her because she had to create a new rune to do it? That’s bullshit!” Isabelle exclaims, the Holy Fire burning harmlessly in her eyes, now.

“Yes, well, that’s Upstairs for you.” He answers, an amused smile forming on his lips. He’s certain Crowley would actually like this one. “I do happen to know someone who can help, but I’m not so certain I want to give his information.”

“Why?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring, like the fire in her eyes might catch him aflame. But he is an angel, Holy Fire is no threat to him.

“He’s the Anti-Christ.” Aziraphale points out, determined that no one will get near Adam unless they swear on their life and the lives of those, they love that they will not harm him. Aziraphale does take his duty as godfather _very _seriously, after all. Besides, if he lets just anyone near Adam, Crowley will be absolutely insufferable.

“Did you just- you know what? I don’t want to know. Your friend, he can help Clary?” Isabelle asks, choosing, wisely, to ignore the fact that their solution just might be the son of the devil.

“Of course. He is the most powerful Neph-uh- _Warlock_, and he’s already defeated his father once. If you and your friend swear not to hurt him and swear not to tell _anyone _about him, I will contact him for you and ask if he can fix your friend.” Aziraphale offers, raising an eyebrow when Isabelle just stares at him.

“Won’t he have to come here?”

“Er, no?” Aziraphale replies, frowning in confusion. “Besides, he’s eleven, so I doubt he’d get parental permission to fly to another continent so he can fix someone his parents won’t even believe exist.”

“Huh. Okay. Yeah, whatever, sure, I swear not to tell anyone about the Anti-Christ and I won’t harm him, either. If your friend doesn’t have to come here, we don’t have to tell Clary how she was fixed, either. So…” Isabelle trails off and shrugs, Aziraphale considers her offer before sighing and nodding his head.

“Very well, I’ll let him know to help your friend. Now, take me to your brother.” Aziraphale demands, before she can demand any further favours from him.

“Right. Follow me.”

* * *

Magnus wakes with a pounding headache and feeling like his body is in on fire, he groans and clenches his nails into the bedsheets.

“Well, now we know what happens when one is magically exhausted and tries to call on their magic, don't we?” He hears Crowley mocking him from close by and growls at him. “So, when you try to take on a being stronger and older than you are, you tend to come off worse in the fight.”

“Thanks for telling me something I don’t know.” He groans, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“Well, you were the fool who decided he could take on Lucifer and then decided to call on your magic while you were _recovering _from foolishly taking on Lucifer.” Crowley points out, needlessly. Magnus snarls at him, until he feels gentle magic rushing over him, and he lets out a relieved breath as the pain eases. “Alright, I’m not helping you if you try to use your magic again, capiche?”

“Right.” He mutters, before relaxing against the mattress and slowly opening his eyes. “Why are they letting Alec think me dead?”

“Well, apparently you have a habit of faking your death and then up and leaving whenever you break up with your mortals. Your warlocks are merely respecting your wishes, or so they think.” Crowley answers, with an amused smirk on his lips. “The boy who cried demon and all that.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, didn’t this boy break your heart?”

“Hasn’t Azzy broken yours?” Magnus bites back, immediately regretting it when he sees the look that crosses Crowley’s face. “I didn’t mean-“

“You did.” Crowley argues, giving him a serious stare. “Demon, remember?”

“Maybe I did mean it, but I’m not angry at you or Azzy. I just wish I knew why Alec broke up with me.” Magnus admits, sighing and looking away. “It’s not- the reason he gave was selfish and he is… the most selfless person I know, after Azzy.” Crowley snorts at that and Magnus really can’t help the little smile that pulls at his lips.

“I think Zira is the most selfless person to exist, Magnus.” Crowley says, as if he’s letting Magnus in on some big secret. “Bloody fool.”

“Right. So, did Azzy ever hurt you? Really, _really_ hurt you?” Magnus queries, notes the way Crowley’s entire body tenses. “Why did he do it and how did you fix it?”

“I asked Aziraphale for holy water, to protect myself if the demons ever came after me. I don’t quite know why it upset him, but he became quite angry with me and we didn’t speak for… a very long time. Then, with the Apocalypse… we both said some things, went our separate ways.” Crowley answers, with a heavy sigh and a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t _really _know how we fixed it, but Zira and I keep finding each other. Keep coming back, it’s like we’re stuck in each other’s orbit and we can’t escape.”

“You don’t want to escape.” Magnus points out, smiling when Crowley hums. “Alexander and I… we keep coming back to each other, no matter what.”

“Right, so you’ll figure it out.” Crowley promises him, running a hand through his ginger hair. “Come on, if you promise not to use your magic, we can go watch movie or something in the cinema.”

“You have a cinema?” Magnus asks, as Crowley careful helps him up from the bed, Magnus leaning very heavily against the demon as his body protests his every move.

“Zira has his library; I have my cinema.” Crowley answers, as if that explains everything, and to Magnus, it does, so he just smiles as he lets his uncle guide him out of the room.


	4. We Naively Believed That Our Ship Couldn't Sink (But It Did)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale meets his second Lightwood, Alec learns a truth, and Izzy and Alec learn a little bit about Upstairs and Downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Seven Original Archangels: Samael, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Anael, Remiel, Uriel.   
The ones that fell: Samael, Raphael, Anael, Remiel.   
The ones that replaced them: Barachiel, Jegudiel, Raguel, Raziel  
The ones that fell: Barachiel, Jegudiel, Raguel  
The ones that replaced them: Ithuriel, Cassiel, Sandalphon  
The Seven Princes of Hell: Samael, Raphael, Anael, Remiel, Barachiel, Jegudiel, Raguel (each has their own Hellscape, except Leviathan/Crowley) Lucifer has Gehenna, Beelzebub has the Good Omens Hell, Asmodeus has Edom. They're the only ones we really care about atm...  
The Current Seven Archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Raziel, Ithuriel, Cassiel, Sandalphon
> 
> Ifrit are warlocks born without magic.
> 
> Title is from Glass Houses by Classic Crime

“Oh, I-I’m Aziraphale.” The cute but flustered angel says, as he follows her down the hallway. Unlike other guests they very, very rarely have in their halls, this one doesn’t look at any of their art along the walls or any of the runes scattered across the floors, walls, or ceiling as they go. Izzy imagines he probably already understands what all of it means anyway.

“Nice to meet you. Why are you after my brother, anyway?” she queries, leading him through the hallways, on the journey to Alec’s quarters.

“I have information about Magnus Bane.” The angel says, causing her to come to a full stop, the angel just stopping before he can collide with her.

“Magnus is dead.” She states, hears the way her voice has become like stone. Magnus was as good as a brother to her and he’s gone. Aziraphale hesitates and Izzy can’t help but frown at him before he seems to straighten, squaring his shoulders.

“Your brother deserves to hear the news I bring first. Then he can choose to share it with whomever he likes. I’m here as a courtesy to him.” The angel states, his tone completely no nonsense, Izzy can completely believe he’s a soldier of God.

“Right.” She murmurs, turning to carry on walking, notes the way the angel hesitates, again, before taking his first step after her. “Hey, do you know the angel Ithuriel?” she queries, only to frown when for some reason the question makes the angel snort. “What?”

“Everyone knows the Archangel Ithuriel. He’s the angel of discovery and sacrifice, but amongst the Host he is called the Most Unfortunate Angel.” Aziraphale replies, sounding utterly amused. “Word Upstairs is the other Six routinely try to keep him from leaving Heaven, but he never listens.”

“You speak like he’s still alive?”

“Of course, he is! Why do you think he is dead?”

“Clary watched Lilith rip his heart out.” Izzy explains, shuddering, though beside her Aziraphale only nods.

“Discorporation. I wonder if he enjoyed the paperwork for that? Then again, one would think he’d have it all memorized.” Aziraphale tells her, with a little chuckle. “His track record of Discoprorations is worse than mine and I live on Earth full time. Then again, I guess some habits do die _very _hard.”

“I don’t understand.” Izzy exclaims, staring at the angel like he has a second head and for all she knows, he _might_. No one has ever seen the true form of an angel before, at least, no one has told the tale of it.

“Ithuriel, like many other angels, once walked this earth as human as the mundanes outside” the angel explains, as they come to a stop outside Alec’s bedroom. “Ithuriel served our Mother faithfully in his life and sacrificed himself for the many sins of the humans. In death, the Almighty honoured him and he was reborn as the Archangel Ithuriel, who resides over sacrifice and discovery. Lilith has never had the power to kill an angel, much less an Archangel. She might be considered a Greater Demon by your lot, but she is _not _of the Fallen. She does not possess the strength to summon Hellfire hot enough to cause more than just a little burn for us.”

“I… see.” Izzy answers, even though she absolutely _does not. “_Uhm, wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.” She tells the angel, before she turns to barge into her brother’s room.

* * *

“Go away, Izzy.” He snaps the moment the door bursts open, he covers his head with his pillow and growls when he hears his sister opening the curtains.

“We have a very important guest who brings information you need to hear. About Magnus.” He doesn’t really pay any attention to her words until he hears _that _name.

“What about Magnus? Magnus is _dead!_” Alec snarls, ripping the pillow away to glare at her, his darling little sister who was once his entire world, alongside their other siblings. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to that time of their lives. No outsiders, just them. Before Magnus, before everything went... _wrong_.

“I don’t know what he has to say about Magnus, Alec. He says he will only talk to _you_. So, you’re gonna get up, throw yourself into the shower and make yourself look at least somewhat presentable.” Izzy tells him, throwing a pile of clean clothes at him and hitting him smack in the face. “Go.”

“But-“

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, get out of bed, get in the shower, get yourself dressed and go to your office. If you’re not there in fifteen minutes, I’ll let our guest into your room and you can hear his news while looking like you haven’t figured out what bathing is yet!” she hisses at him, before stomping to the door. “Move it!” she yells, before slamming the door shut behind her.

Izzy really has always been the most impatient of them all, she’s just normally always been better at hiding it, he supposes, as he slowly pulls himself out of bed. Scooping up the clothing his darling sister had thrown at him and heading off to find the shower for the first time in what feels like forever.

Normally, he’d take the time to enjoy the shower, letting his mind drift into the ridiculous and the impossible, but not today. Today he is in and out of the shower within five minutes, and quickly drying himself and chucking on his clothing. He does take the time to make sure his buttons are in the right holes and his collar is straight, he even takes the time to find some shoes, before he’s all but racing through the hallways down to his office. He pauses outside the door to listen to the voices from inside.

“Sorry, did you just say that Magnus’ father is a _Fallen Angel?_” his sister demands, causing him to frown in confusion.

“My dear, all seven of the Princes are Fallen Angels, and not just any angels, either. Archangels. It is why they are held above the other demons, because they were held above other angels, too, once.” An unfamiliar voice explains, but Alec immediately pegs them as British.

“Who was Magnus’ father?” Izzy demands, and Alec leans closer, his ear pressed against the door, curious to hear the answer.

“Only the Archangels and the Almighty know the true answer to that, my dear. We can only guess, but the one Prince we know the identity of is Lucifer, who was once the Archangel Samael, the first of us.” The voice answers and Alec’s breath hitches, their guest is an _angel? _

“I thought Michael was the first?”

“Mhm, that is what your stories say, however, the Seven were born in sets. Samael and Michael, with Samael being born first. Then Raphael and Gabriel, with Raphael being born first. Then Anael, Remiel, and Uriel, with Anael born first, Remiel second, Uriel last. When Samael Fell, it was decided that Michael would be touted as the first born. It is nothing but propaganda, my dear.” Their mysterious angelic guest explains, Alec smiles when he hears his sister’s frustrated sigh.

“Why do _we _not know this? Any of it? We’re _Nephilim_!”

“Not quite and even if you were, the mandate from both Upstairs and Down is that Nephilim are always to be kept in the dark as much as possible.” Their guest answers, sounding both annoyed and amused in equal measure, a combination Alec’s certain apparently only pertains to those with 'real' angelic blood because Magnus does exact same thing.

_Magnus._

With that thought, Alec pushes open the door and steps into the room, full of confidence he doesn’t feel and hope he refuses to acknowledge. No one has been willing to tell him a damn thing about Magnus, not since his warlock closed the Rift and wasn’t seen again.

“There you are, brother. I thought maybe you got lost.” Izzy teases, though he sees the concern in her eyes when she looks him over. The last few days… no, the last few _months _have been _hell_.

“Thank you, Izzy.” Alec tells his sister with a little glare that only makes her grin at him. “Who is our guest?”

“Right, Alec, I’d like you to meet the Principality Aziraphale. Aziraphale, please meet my brother Alexander Lightwood.” Izzy introduces, then sits up straight, her eyes shining that mysterious gold colour they have been on and off since the battle with Jonathan. Alec looks away from his sister and the question of her golden eyes, and instead turns to their guest, sees the appraising look the angel gives him and frowns.

“Why does Heaven care about Magnus?” he queries, his heart suddenly in his throat.

_He’s here to confirm that Magnus is dead. _

“Alright, stop that right now. Heaven does not care one whit about Magnus Bane, had Magnus died and his soul gone to Heaven, they would not care to confirm this for you.” Aziraphale states, emphatically, apparently having seen the thoughts blaring themselves on Alec’s face.

“Then why-?”

“Because Magnus Bane is currently laid out in my spare bedroom, recovering from foolishly, and recklessly, deciding to take on a rift formed from the Sword of Lucifer Morning Star himself.” The angel states, visibly becoming more and more agitated as he speaks.

“Magnus is alive.” He whispers, and for a second the world seems suddenly too much, then he lets out a shaking breath as the world rights itself again. Becomes _right_ in a way it hasn’t been since he saw Magnus carried through a portal and didn’t hear a word more about him. That missing piece of him suddenly seeming like it has been found.

“Were it not for myself and Crowley, our dearest nephew would have destroyed himself. As it is, he’s going to be in recovery for quite a while. Perhaps I should have waited before I gave his magic back to him…” Aziraphale says, muttering the last part, clearly talking to himself.

“Wait. _You _gave Magnus his magic back?”

“Yes, of course, I did!” the angel exclaims, appearing genuinely offended. “I found the poor boy wandering the streets, half out of his mind with shock, utterly defenceless! Of course, I gave him his magic back!”

“But I made a deal with his father!”

“Oh, not another one! What did you deal?” the angel demands, folding his arms over his chest. “Have the lot of you lost your bloody minds? You don’t make deals with demons, not unless you have an_ Arrangement.” _

“I agreed to break Magnus’ heart if Asmodeus would give him back his magic.” Alec states, rubbing anxiously at his hair. “So, it was pointless, the whole time? I thought only Asmodeus could give his magic back to him.”

“It’s _his _magic, it belongs to him and belongs _with _him. No matter the terms of the deal, no matter if the magic was given willingly, it was _stolen _and therefore well within my realm to return.” The angel explains as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wait, then how come you can’t help Clary?” Izzy queries, frowning at their angelic guest.

“Clary wasn’t born with her runes and she was not born with her memories. A warlock, on the other hand, is born with all of the magic they will ever have. It just might take them their entire life to figure out the scope of their powers and some come into their powers later in life, but they are _always_ born with it... or not born with it, in the case of the Ifrit.” Aziraphale answers with a heavy sigh. “If I could help your friend, I would, Isabelle, but I cannot. Magnus might have been able to help her, but as it is, doing any sort of magic is going to be absolute black-out agony for him for at least the next few days, if not the next few weeks, I doubt your friend can wait that long?”

“No.”

“There you are, then.” Aziraphale states, before turning back to Alec. “I only came to let you know that your ex-boyfriend is not dead. I understand where you came from in making the deal with Asmodeus, but Magnus help you when Crowley finds out. If you promise to grovel like your bloody life depends on it, I will take you to see Magnus, but I cannot promise you will have a warm welcome.” 

“Who is Crowley?” Alec demands, crossing his arms over his chest, for some reason the question amuses the angel.

“You have heard the phrase ‘a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma’? That is my dear Crowley in a nutshell.” Aziraphale answers, before looking pointedly at him. “Well? Go on, are you going to promise to grovel?”

“Magnus is my _world_. I’ll do whatever I have to, to have him back.” He promises, his voice breaking over the words.

_Magnus is everything. _

“Well, alright then.” The angel says, holding out his hand. “If you upset him and he uses his magic, Crowley is going to throw you in a volcano, but only if _I _don’t beat him to it.” The angel threatens, and there’s something about the way he says the words that makes Alec believe him wholly.

“Uhm, understood.” He agrees, reaching out to place his hand into the angel’s.

“Hold on tight then.” Is the angel’s only warning before he suddenly feels himself being yanked away.

Wherever they’re going, they land softly, but it doesn’t stop him from falling to his knees and dry heaving immediately upon arrival.

“Oops. Maybe I should have warned you about that, shouldn’t I?” he hears Aziraphale ask from somewhere far away, but he doesn’t have enough energy to focus on that as the world refuses to stop spinning around him. “I apologize, It’s been awhile since I’ve taken passengers…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I didn't make it clear enough, Ithuriel was Jesus once upon a time... (he's currently holding the Heaven record for corporations) 
> 
> I'm world building as I right this, so if I write myself into a corner... ooops.
> 
> Also, Blame by Bastille came on while I was writing this and I may be back on my ~suicidal Magnus~ bullshit. Oh my. My heart.


	5. The Person That You'd Take A Bullet For (Is Behind the Trigger)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys reunite, Crowley has a revelation, Magnus gets a lecture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

“What. Was. That?”

Aziraphale glances back down at the Shadowhunter as they breathe deeply, eyes clenched shut.

“I flew. It’s disorientating if you’ve never done it before, and if you’re the passenger.” Aziraphale explains, gently helping the Shadowhunter back to his feet. “Wait here, I’ll go see if Magnus is up to guests.”

“H-how badly hurt is he?” Alec asks, just as Aziraphale moves to leave.

“I told you that if Crowley and I hadn’t been there, that he’d be dead?” he queries, getting a nod in return. “Right, what I didn’t mention, is that Crowley has spent the last few days by Magnus’ side, healing Magnus’ body as much as he can. Magic, when called, flows through the body like blood, the channels that carry the magic can burst if someone is reckless with how they use their magic, such as trying to close a rift that is far stronger than they are. Currently, Magnus’ magic is sitting safely in his core, replenishing after the fight. If Magnus refrains from calling his magic, even for the littlest of things, the magical channels in his body will heal, if not, when he calls his magic, he will be torturing himself.”

“He hates being without magic.” Alec explains, turning a little black ball over and over in his hands. “It’s why I made the deal with his father. He was so depressed and he almost got himself killed doing a magic transfer with another warlock. He seemed like he was going to keep trying, even though the possibility was high that it would kill him, so I asked him if he’d rather be dead than without his magic… he said he might prefer it.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale exclaims, with sudden understanding, though he’s curious if Alec Lightwood has any clue about Magnus’ past, specifically his mental health. “Don’t worry about that, he’ll be fine, no matter how long it takes him to recover.” He promises, because they’ve already dealt with Magnus at his absolute worst before, it’s nothing they can’t handle again.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Magnus is one of the strongest people I know.” He promises, reaching out squeeze Alec’s shoulder, before he turns and heads down the hallway. He pauses at the threshold to turn back and frown at Alec. “Why did he give up his magic in the first place?”

“One of Lilith’s demons was possessing my parabatai, Magnus gave his magic in order to have Asmodeus' help in freeing Jace.” Alec answers, Aziraphale thinks his eye might just twitch.

“I see.” He answers, before turning and continuing into the hall. He peers into the spare room and finds it absent of both Nephilim and demon and he frowns, until he hears the faintest sounds coming from the door at the end of the hall, through which is Crowley’s cinema. The Nephilim must have woken up.

Aziraphale knocks at the door and feels the burst of Crowley’s magic, that lets him know he can enter. He pushes open the door and smiles at the sight that greets him. In one of the very comfortable chairs, Magnus is tucked up with a pillow and a blanket and fast asleep, beside him, Crowley’s spun, so his legs are over into the empty chair on his other side, and he’s angled so he can see the screen without getting a crick in his neck. Aziraphale tries to figure out what Crowley is watching, but it is some cartoon he doesn’t recognize.

“He woke up.” He murmurs, coming to sit down in the chair beside Crowley’s feet.

“Yeah, then the silly boy tried to use his magic when he learnt what you were up to.” Crowley answers, with a little sigh. “Were you successful in finding the Great Breaker of Hearts?”

“Be nice, the boy was trying to do Magnus a favour, in a misguided way.” Aziraphale scolds, looking again at Magnus, the Nephilim looks so sweet and peaceful when he sleeps, there’s no hint of the fierceness that Aziraphale knows the boy is made of.

“Oh?”

“Apparently, the loss of his magic pushed the boy back into bad habits.”

“Bad habits such as?” Crowley queries, sitting up to frown at Magnus, as well.

“Well, his boyfriend asked him if he’d rather be dead than live without magic, and our sweet, idiotic boy answered that he might prefer that.”

“Ah. Great. So, what did the Boyfriend do, then?”

“It appears the Boyfriend made a deal with Asmodeus, he’d break Magnus’ heart if Asmodeus gave back that which he took.” He answers, sighing and shaking his head. “The great irony here is that Magnus gave his magic so he could have Asmodeus’ power to expel one of Lilith’s demons.”

“But he’s stronger than Asmodeus, and so much stronger than Lilith even on a bad day.” Crowley retorts absolutely bewildered.

“I _know_! This is what happens when we keep them in the dark, Crowley.”

“Well, Magnus knows now. He won’t make those mistakes anymore.”

“Good. How long has he been asleep? When do you think he’ll wake?”

“If I try to carry him, he’ll wake. This isn’t medicated sleep, it’s not even a magical coma like before, this is just genuine sleep.” Crowley answers, shaking his head. “He’s not going to have a choice on the matter of letting his magic rest. If he tries to use it for at least the next week, he’ll black out almost immediately.”

“But the strain…”

“He’ll heal... eventually.” Crowley promises, so Aziraphale lets himself believe, let’s himself relax. He might not know who Crowley was before his fall, but Aziraphale does know that he was a Healer. Healers are rare in Heaven, they used to be numerous, but sometime after Archangel Raphael’s death, they all seemed to drop like flies, as if they just couldn’t get away from Heaven fast enough. Sometimes Aziraphale wants to ask, but it’s not his place and they long ago made an agreement not to talk about the War.

“Do you think he’d react badly if he woke up and the Boyfriend was there?”

“I take it that means the Boyfriend is here?” Crowley queries, raising an eyebrow.

“It might.” Aziraphale answers, sheepishly.

“Let’s not spring that on him. I’ll wake him up, you go keep the Boyfriend occupied.”

“Right.”

* * *

Crowley waits until Zira has left, before he turns back to the Nephilim and the giant pain in the butt whose name is Magnus Bane, fitting as it is. Crowley absolutely prays to the Almighty that Adam won’t give him headaches like this.

“Magnus, you need to wake up now.” Crowley murmurs, using just a little bit of his own magic to gently nudge the boy awake. “Come on.”

“Cr’wl’y?” Magnus mumbles, slowly opening his eyes and frowning at him. “What?”

“It seems Zira was successful in tracking down your ex-boyfriend. He’s here. Wait!” Crowley exclaims, reaching out to push Magnus back when the Nephilim starts to move. “You need to listen to me. If you try and use your magic, you’ll black out again, do you understand? Even if you call for the _smallest _amount of magic, you’ll pass out.”

“But-“

“Your magical channels are destroyed, when you call for your magic, the magic _burns _through your body. It’s why your body is so stiff and achy; it’s why you were in so much pain when you woke up before. Until your magical channels are fixed, if you call on your magic, you are damaging yourself. Do you understand me?” Crowley queries, speaking over Magnus when he tries to talk.

“Yes.” Magnus answers, a deep frown on his face. “How long?”

“_Weeks,_ Magnus. You made a mistake; you have to face the consequences.”

“I can’t… I_ can’t_ be without my magic again.”

“Zira and I are here, you’re safe here, Magnus. You don’t need your magic while you’re here. You need to heal. I know you don’t want to feel like you’re a burden or that you’re powerless, but we’ve all been here before.” Crowley promises, determined to kick Asmodeus' ass the next time he sees his brother. Honestly, 'Leviathan, watch over my son' and then he turns around and does his best to destroy his son. Why does Crowley even bother listening to his siblings anymore?

“You haven’t.”

“I was a mess when I Fell, Magnus. I was so scared to come out of my snake form, that I stayed in it for _years_. It wasn’t until Mother finally finished making Her Garden and I was sent to tempt Eve that I took form again.” 

“When you met Azzy.”

“Yes. Lucifer got sick of me hanging all over him and he sent me off up to the Garden.” Crowley pauses, turning to frown at the big screen in front of them. “Fuck, I think I owe Lucifer about a thousand favours!” he exclaims, thinks he can hear his brother’s laughter sounding in his ears. “Oh, you shit.”

“Lucifer the matchmaker, that’s one I haven’t heard before.” Magnus says with a chuckle, Crowley just glares at him.

“Don’t you sssstart.” Crowley hisses, before moving to scoop Magnus up in his arms.

“Hey!!” Magnus, yells, clenching his fingers into Crowley’s arms.

“You’re going to speak with the Boyfriend, while I’m going to take a trip to visit my brother.” Crowley announces, carrying Magnus out of the room.

“I’m fully capable of walking under my own power!” Magnus whines, pinching Crowley’s arms.

“You are not. You collapsed five times just between the bedroom and the cinema.” Crowley points out, with a little glare. “You’re the idiot who got himself hurt, so you’re going to let us take care of you, so I don’t have to explain to your father why his son has irreparably damaged his ability to perform magic.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that? If you don’t let yourself heal, eventually, you’ll damage your magical channels so much they will never heal properly. You’ll never be able to perform the types of magic you were capable of before, because your body physically will not be able to bear it.” Crowley explains, pausing in the hallway long enough for that information to sink into Magnus’ head. “You’re not a burden, you’re my patient. So, Healer’s orders, you’re going to be a good little warlock and let us help you.”

“Fine.” Magnus grumbles, and doesn’t say another word as Crowley finally takes him out into the living room and carefully sets him down in one of the super comfortable armchairs and tucking Zira’s tartan blanket around him. He surreptitiously glances at the Boyfriend, notes the concern written all over the boy’s face and screaming in the boy’s posture and decides he’ll only scare the boy a _little. _

“Zira, I have to go Downstairs for a bit. I’ll be in and out, don’t worry!” he assures, when he turns to his angel and sees that Zira has become suddenly pale and concerned. “I’ll be perfectly fine, in the meantime, Magnus has promised to be a model patient for you. Now, I will be back.” He announces, before grabbing his sunglasses and heading out the door, in search of the way to Home Office New York Branch.

* * *

“Magnus!” Magnus has to give Alec credit, a demon waltzes past him, announces he’s heading down to Hell and flounces off, and Alec’s only concern appears to be him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any of it! It was stupid,_ I_ was stupid. I- “

“Slow down.” Magnus interrupts, his mind still reeling form the information bomb Crowley had dropped on him before running.

“Right. I will be in the Library… Magnus, no magic. Alexander, volcano!” Aziraphale warns, pointing a finger at first Magnus, then Alec.

“Volcano?”

“Alec knows what I mean.” Azzy promises, before he disappears down the hallway, Magnus looking after him in confusion.

“What?”

“I’ve been threatened with a volcano if I upset you.” Alec explains, before shaking his head. “Anyway, that’s not important. I have to tell you the real reason I broke up with you.” Magnus narrows his eyes, the spiteful part of him wants to make Alec fight for every step of this conversation, but the rational part of him points out that he was just telling Crowley a few hours ago that he wanted to know why.

“I’m listening.”

“I made a deal with your father.” Alec admits and it takes everything that Magnus is to stamp down on the urge to call forth his magic, it won’t help him and he’s _normally_ not the type of person to shoot first and ask questions later, and then there's the whole 'black-out agony' thing to consider. “You were so depressed, Magnus, so upset about your magic that you thought maybe you’d prefer to be dead. So, I made a deal with your father. I’d break up with you and he’d give your magic back and I could never tell you. But, Aziraphale said _he _gave your magic back. So, it doesn’t… it doesn’t even matter, the entire deal is void.”

“Alec.”

“You were_ so_ upset, Magnus. I didn’t realize how much of your self-worth you placed in your magic and I just assumed you’d get over it one day. But you wouldn’t have, would you? Not even a little bit. So, I had to. You’re immortal. You gave up your magic so I could have Jace. It was selfish of me to believe I could keep you _and _Jace. I should have never let you go to Edom. You saved Jace for me, Magnus, and there was only one thing I could offer you. Without me, you could have had your magic and your immortality, you had another chance to fall in love with someone and be happy. It was the only thing I had to give, Magnus. You wouldn’t have been happy with anything else.”

Magnus lets Alec talk, keeps a tight hold on his emotions and his magic as he listens, can’t let either get the better of him, or he’ll regret it in more ways than one. Alec’s words hurt him, but they make so much sense. More sense than the crap Alec had told him that night.

“I wasn’t happy with that, either.” Magnus finally answers, when Alec falls silent.

“You would have been, one day.” Alec answers, looking away from him. “You told me so, yourself.”

“What?”

“When we argued over your Memento Box. You said you didn’t have a choice but to move on. That after I was gone, you’d have to move on from me, too.” Alec probably doesn’t mean for his words to be like a knife to Magnus’ heart but that is what they are, that is all they are. He’d never intended to give Alec the idea that there was an expiry date on his love for him. There isn’t. Magnus had swiftly figured out that Alec is his last love. No matter if he lives another thousand years, there will never be another one.

Now he just has to figure out how to explain that to Alec.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Crowley (as Leviathan) has pretty much been tasked with keeping an eye on all the Nephilim kids of the Seven Princes. Which means Adam and Magnus at the moment, but each of the Seven, except Crowley, have children on Earth (but Magnus is their problem child). Crowley basically spends part of his time making sure they all don't get dead, and that century he spent napping, he basically had demons or warlocks following all of the children around the entire time. Though, he did have to get up at one point to go and make sure Magnus got through the whole 'Blackfriars Bridge' incident... (Crowley HATED Camille). 
> 
> Aziraphale just thinks aside from being tasked with making sure 'evil' gets done on Earth, Crowley's also tasked with watching the Nephilim, so he pretty much just goes along with it whenever he meets another Nephilim. (Crowley is gonna come clean)


	6. I Know It'll Kill Me When It's Over (I Don't Want to Think About It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley visits his brother, Lucifer observes his not-son, Magnus and Alec talk and things do not go as well as they wanted...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Crowley and Leviathan have different snake forms (despite being the same person). Neither of their forms reflect snakes that are still alive today (or that ever existed). Leviathan is the origin of all the myths regarding giant snakes (Jormungandr etc.), though he is capable of being smaller than a pool noodle, up to being bigger than the Titanoboa was known to be, and he most closely reflects the King Cobra. Crowely's form is a bit of a hodgepodge of his favourite features shamelessly stolen from every snake that ever lived (he's the Prince of Envy, remember, even if no-one but Lucifer knows it). He has the ability to change into whatever snake form he wants, but he does normally remain distinctly recognizable as Leviathan or as Crowley when in Hell on Business in snake form. Additionally, as far as Hell (and Heaven) are concerned, Leviathan does not HAVE a humanoid form. 
> 
> Chapter title: Love Me Now by John Legend
> 
> My fancast for Lucifer is Taika Waititi.

“Leviathan.” Lucifer greets, leaning down to scoop the black snake from the ground and letting him loop around his neck. “Long time, no see.”

“What liesss.” Crowley hisses in response, bopping his head against Lucifer’s cheek, the Prince of Pride laughs and leans away. “The Not-Apocalypsssse was only reccceent.”

“That doesn’t count, brother.” Lucifer replies, gently stroking between Crowley’s eyes. “You haven’t come to visit me in this form for quite a while. What is the special occasion?” he questions, though he is quite certain he knows.

“You sssent me to the Garden on purpossse.”

“Well, yes, of course I did, brother.” Lucifer agrees, amusement clear in his voice. “You were a very nice necklace, but you needed to get out a bit, you were driving me _mad_.”

“Did you plan for Azzziraphale?”

“Of course.” Lucifer answers, glancing around the empty throne room, before forming himself a portal in the floor and stepping through, bringing them both out to Keukenhof Garden. “I remember your type, Leviathan.”

“I didn’t have a type.”

“We _all_ had a type.” He argues, shaking his head. “In any case, Michael told me of the new Cherubim guarding the Eastern Gate, I figured you needed a friend, even if it was an angel.”

“You sssstill sssspeak with Michael?”

“Of course. She is my little sister. Though, we normally just trade insults, sometimes we share useful information.” He admits, leaning over to examine the beautiful tulips in front of them. “Do you still speak with Gabriel?”

“When I have no choiccce.” Crowley answers, coming the closest a snake can to sulking. Crowley was always the best of them at it, he turned it into an art form.

“I see.” Lucifer considers his options, while his brother stretches out to scent the air.

“We’re on Earth.”

“Yes, of course. My greatest secret.” Lucifer admits, smug as, well, hell. “No one has yet figured out that I can come and go as I please. Well, Michael is aware, but choosing to ignore it.”

“Yessss, that sounds like our sssissster.” Crowley agrees, before curling back up around Lucifer’s neck, resting his head on his shoulder. “Have you ssseen Adam?”

“I have not. Not since the… Not-Apocalypse, did you call it?” He queries, looking around them at all the beautiful flowers. A reminder of the Garden that once was. Their Mother's most beautiful Creation will always be the Garden, and that is lost to them all, now.

“Adam callsss it variationsss of the Not-Apocalypssse and Almossst-Armageddon.”

“I see. I’m happy with the way the boy turned out, though I’m certain I should be annoyed with you for losing him for eleven years.” He points out, smirking when Crowley hisses at him.

“Don’t blame that on me. The nunsss ruined that one.”

“Hmm. Well, at least you’ve found him now and he’s not as foolish as he could have been.”

“I thought you were unhappy?”

“I Fell for the right to exercise my Free Will, Leviathan. My son chose to exercise his, when he decided the world was not going to end. Why would that upset me? I just had to put on a good show for the others.” He answers, notes the way Crowley shakes his head.

“Your Not-Ssson. Adam isss very particular about that.”

“Right. Will you take me to him?” He queries, feeling the first stirrings of anticipation in a long while.

“He ssstill hasss hisss powersss. Ssso, don’t think to attack him.” Leviathan warns, before launching himself from Lucifer’s neck and beginning to take his humanoid form beside him.

“Adam will not even know we are there.” Lucifer promises, before holding out his hand, Crowley sighs before taking it into his own and Lucifer feels the yank as they’re suddenly somewhere else. “He really lives in Lower Tadfield?”

“Lucifer, brother, you live in_ Hell! _Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, and all that.” Crowley answers, absolutely bewildered, and Lucifer laughs.

“Right. No, you’re right. Where exactly are we?”

“We are in the Hogback Wood, Adam and his friends, the Them, often come here to hang out.” Crowley explains, leading Lucifer further into the woods. Lucifer quietly follows after him, enjoying the fresh air and the music of the animals dotted around the wood. He has missed nature and all its beauty. He comes to a stop when he hears voices further out in the trees.

“Is that them?”

“Yes.” Crowley answers, guiding him to a hidden spot where they could look in and see the clearing his not-son has made his own. He remembers the little group from the Airfield, his not-son’s brave friends who stood with him at the end of the world. Yet, here they are, arguing over…

“Are they seriously arguing over Ice-cream flavours?” he hisses at his brother, who simply grins at him.

“It’s an ongoing debate.” He answers, smiling fondly at the kids.

“Honestly! And is that the Hell Hound I sent him?” Lucifer queries, when he sees the little black and white dog lying beside his master but looking right at the King of Hell.

“Yes, that would be Dog.”

“Ah.” He exclaims, because that makes a lot of sense. He wonders how conflicted the Hell Hound must get at times, between his nature and his assumed nature. The most vicious of Hell Hounds, rendered a harmless little dog. It does beggar belief. 

“Aww, look at you, so full of pride.” Crowley teases, laughing as Lucifer glares.

“I _am _the Prince of Pride.” He points out, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s only fitting I take pride in my creation.”

“Aha, Proud Papa. You know you didn’t actually have anything to do with the person he is becoming, right?”

“Shut up, Leviathan!”

* * *

“Alec…” he speaks before he even really knows what he’s going to say, how he wants to say it, so he’s not surprised when he trails into silence after speaking Alec’s name. His stupid Shadowhunter is so _fucking_ selfless that he’d give up a future with him if it meant he could be happy, even if Alec himself wouldn’t be. That’s really just typical Alec. Sacrificing whatever he has to for everyone else around him. Magnus knows that before he came into the picture, Alec lived only for his duty, to the Clave, to his parents, to his siblings, to everyone but himself. It makes him so angry to think that Alec would have gone back to that, _for him_. He’s so angry he loses hold of his magic for just a moment and he hisses, quickly stamping down on it, calling it back into his core as his entire chest burns with the pain of even a second of his magic being let go. Crowley hadn't been kidding when he said he would be doing damage to himself. 

“Magnus?”

“I’m fine.” He gasps, painfully reaching up to press his hand over his heart, his fingers digging into the skin beneath his clothing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Magnus nods, closing his eyes. “I just lost control for a second. I’m-I’m fine.” He promises, breathing deeply and slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here, it’s too soon.” Alec stammers out, falling silent when he glares at him.

“I said I’m fine, Alec.” He snaps, finally letting go of his chest when he’s certain he’s not going to black out like before. It’s a close thing, though. “I love you. You’re stupid and far too bloody selfless for it to be smart, but_ I love you_. I will never stop loving you. If I lose you today or tomorrow or in a hundred years from now, I’ll never stop loving you. I know I told you that if I lost you, I’d have no choice but to move on from you, but that’s not true. I couldn’t-I couldn’t _ever_ move on from you.”

“Magnus-“

“Let me speak.” Magnus demands, waiting for Alec to give him a reluctant nod. “You are the last. The last person I will ever love this way. Do you understand me? There will _never _be another one after you, because there _can’t_ be. Your loss is going to destroy me, Alec. If I survive it, then that’s it. Like Catarina, I will never again allow anyone to know me the way you know me, never again allow myself to love anyone the way I love you. If you tell me that you never want to get back together with me, that you never want to see me again. I’ll accept it, but it changes _nothing_. You are the last, Alec. You are my heart. With my magic, without my magic. Immortal or not immortal. You are my heart; you are my _everything_.”

“But I’m _mortal_, Magnus. You’re _always_ going to lose me.”

“_I know._ I’ve always known that. It changes _nothing_.” Magnus promises, a bitter little smile forming on his lips. “Love is a double-edged sword.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Alec swears, something calculating in his eyes that scares the absolute hell out of Magnus.

“Whatever you’re plotting, **_don’t!_**”

“Lilith was human once, right? How did she-“

“No. We’re not discussing this, Alexander. Lilith is a _demon_. _You _are a _Shadowhunter,_ you hunt demons, you do not become them! Don’t start down this path.” Magnus states, glaring at him. “You will not throw away your entire life, your entire _future _on the chance of spending an eternity with me. I won’t allow it!”

_Even if you were willing to throw away **our **future for my happiness._

“I’m a soldier, Magnus, and soldiers do whatever they can to live to fight another day, and another, and another, and another. If I can’t have forever with you, that’s _fine_. But I’m _never_ going to stop trying. If you can’t be happy without me, then I just can never leave.”

“It doesn’t work that way!”

“I’ll make it work that way.” Alec promises him and Magnus hears the finality and determination in his voice. Alec will not be swayed from this.

“I won’t be a part of this.” Magnus tells him, shaking his head. “I won’t. If you want to become immortal, that’s your choice, I won’t stop you. But _don’t _bring me into it. Don’t talk to me about it. Don’t leave your research out where I can find it. Don’t tell me _anything_ about it.” He demands, feels his control on his magic slipping again, as his emotions begin to get the better of him, churning within him, but he can't stop it, can't stop himself. Alec has to understand.

“Magnus-“

“If you do this, you do this for _you. _You have to, because if something happens to me and you’re immortal, you won’t be able to take it back. You understand me? If you do this, there is no going back. If you do this, you’re going to have to watch Izzy and Jace and Max and Clary and your parents _die_, Alexander. Do you get that? _Everyone _you love who is mortal, you will watch them die, second by second, day by day, month by month, year by year, right in front of your face and you will _never _be able to save them. If you do this, it has to be a decision that you make completely on your own, because I won’t _ever _be responsible for hurting you like that. And you will not ask it of me.” He swears, his voice become cold, even as his heart aches and his stomach flips. “Argh.” He groans, pressing his hand to his chest again as his control slips completely and then...

_Everything is on fire. _

Suddenly the darkness is reaching for him and he can’t help but give in, even as he hears Alec yelling his name.

* * *

“What part of ‘Volcano’ did you not understand?” he hears Aziraphale hiss behind him and then suddenly the angel is there, taking Magnus' hand into his own and soothing the magic that crackles and snaps around Magnus’ fingertips like lightning. It’s nothing like the fire Alec is used to.

“We were just _talking_ and then…” Alec shakes his head, staring as the magic slowly retreats back into Magnus.

“What were you talking about?”

“I told him I was going to find a way to become immortal and he got really vehement that if I did that, I had to do it on my own. And then… he just…” Alec shrugs and indicates Magnus’ current state.

“Right. In future, let’s avoid the heavier topics until he’s capable of at the very least calling on his magic without blacking out. Each time this happens, he sets back his healing. Crowley will check him when he’s back, but for the moment, I think it is best if we let him sleep. Are you staying or going?” the angel queries, carefully pulling Magnus up into his arms, cradling him against his chest.

“I’m staying.” Alec states, with a determined nod.

“Very well. Come on, then.” Aziraphale says, before turning and carrying Magnus down the hallway, Alec follows behind him, silent and aching.

He doesn’t say a word as the angel tucks his warlock up into bed, all he does is fall into the chair pushed beside the bed and reach out to hold Magnus’ hand.

“For his own good, when he wakes, if he wants to continue your conversation, tell him he will have to wait.” Aziraphale tells him, and he gives a jerky little nod but doesn’t say anything. Can’t seem to find his voice.

Everything he does, just hurts the one he loves most.

_Well, don't they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Magnus communication skills are like sometimes 100% excellent, and then other times it is like 'omfg, boys, use your fucking words! Use the CORRECT fucking words!!!' 
> 
> Happier by Bastille and Marshmello is also totally a Malec break up song and it hurts the fuck out of me. For god's sake! (yes, it played while writing this chapter). Just... just imagine if Malec were still broken up when this song came out, and it played on the radio and Alec heard it and just like fucking bursts into tears... 
> 
> My headcanon is that because each of the Original Seven were twins or triplets, they do still keep in contact with their 'closest' sibling. Michael and Lucifer have been secretly shit-talking each other since Lucifer fell (it got incredibly easier to do when cellphones were inveted). Crowley and Gabriel are in the middle of the longest bout of ghosting ever, though they ARE competing with each other on almost every Mobile App Game there is (they're equally tied on wins across all the games). Crowley creates a new App game whenever he needs a new Game to play. Asmodeus, Satan, and Uriel are the most 'civil' of the three sets, they have a 'family chat' going on where they basically just send each other memes back and forward and don't actually 'talk'. 
> 
> Let's be real, the war kind of never ended, they just entered into a reluctant Truce (THEY LITERALLY SHARE HOME OFFICE!)


	7. Oh, Where Do We Begin (The Rubble Or Our Sins?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley scares Asmodeus, drops a bomb on Aziraphale, and takes on a protegee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there WERE two versions of this chapter, but I accidentally on purpose deleted the first version, then realized halfway through this one that I DELETED MY ENTIRE FAVOURITE PART OF THIS FUCKING CHAPTER!! I AM SO UPSET! Since I'm not sure if I'll ever include the scene in the fic now (because I get sad trying to write it again) Lucifer, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel were the first four beings in creation (after Creation themself, of course), they pretty much spent their time hanging out and investigating whatever new things their Mum created. When the stars were created, Gabriel practically dragged Raphael out to see them, and Gabriel became fascinated with the Stars so much, he took the light from a star and placed it in his eyes. He nagged and nagged and nagged Raphael until Raphael finally gave in and agreed to have stars in his eyes, too. Raphael chose the brightest star in the constellation that would one day become the Serpens, although he didn't know it at the time.
> 
> Additionally. Lucifer fell, became balanced by Michael, Raphael fell, became balanced by Gabriel. Asmodeus is balanced in power with Uriel. Then beneath them are the other Princes and the other Archangels. Satan is a bit of anomaly, she's as strong as Asmodeus and Uriel, but her balance is Raziel, who is naturally weaker than she is, seeing how Raziel was not an Original. Not that it matters much, since Satan is trapped in her Pit.
> 
> Chapter title: Pompeii by Bastille

“Why did you command me to watch over your child if you were jussst going to sssteal hissss magic?” Crowley queries, smirking internally when his younger sibling jolts in surprise.

“Leviathan!”

“Yesssss. Our brother informed me that you were onccce again in _my _domain.” Crowley hisses, rising up, his form growing larger and larger, as he is poised to strike. “_You _placccced the boy in _my_ care, he issss _mine_ to protect, _mine_ to teach, _mine_ to guide. You sssseek to ssssteal him from beneath my nosssse?”

“I meant nothing by it, brother. He is my son.” Asmodeus defends himself, his hands raised in a mockery of surrender, his little brother does not know the meaning of the word.

“He issss my ward! He isss no longer _yoursss_!”

“Is he not being watched over by the traitor Crowley and his… _friend_?” his little brother queries and it is not a small thing that he does not strike for the insult.

“Crowley issss mine. Hissss angel is off limitssss, Luccccifer hasss decreed.” Crowley hisses angrily, rocking back and forward as he contemplates his options. “The humanssss have thissss wonderful invensssshion called a Ressstraining Order. Assss of thissss moment, you are unable to go within fifty-four thousssand, five hundred, fifty-five sssssquare milesss of the Warlock known asss Magnusss Bane. Break thissss resssstricsssshion and I will enssssure a lack of Corporassshion will be the leassst of your problemsss!” he promises his brother, his eyes flashing with a dangerous gold.

“Leviathan, he is my _son.” _

“Perhapsss you sssshould have thought of that before you manipulated him into giving up hisss magic. He almosssst died becaussse of you! All of my hard work, it would have been for nothing!” He, unlike so many others, understands the meaning of being so angry you spit venom, and he can’t quite bring himself to feel bad when Asmodeus has to quickly throw himself backwards or risk Discorporation as the deadly, acidic venom shoots towards him. “Lucccifer commanded me to protect my niecccesss and nephewsss and keep them ssssafe from harm. _You are harm!”_

“Can’t we talk about this, brother?”

“Perhapsss in another thousssand yearsss. If you are not out of thissss sssstate within ten minutessss, you will only have yourssself to blame for what happensss nexxxt!” he warns, once more rapidly growing in size.

“I am going, brother. I needed his magic for something, but it no longer matters.” Asmodeus mutters, before forming himself a portal, so akin to those his son creates, and then he’s gone, leaving a large serpent angrily hissing into the night air.

* * *

Crowley stumbles back to the house he’s made with Aziraphale, his wings aching from the use to first take Lucifer to see Adam, then to confront Asmodeus. His wings never quite healed from his Fall, sure they’re usable, they’ll hold his weight and others’, but he’ll regret it later, just as he regrets it now. He pushes through the front door and all but collapses into the first armchair within his reach, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

“You look like you’ve been busy.” He hears his angel comment, concern and amusement both in his voice. He gives a non-committal hum and considers the pros and cons of coming clean with his oldest and dearest friend. Of course, they’ve never lied to each other when they could help it, so Crowley tries not to let the guilt eat him.

“Angel, I have to tell you something and you’ll probably want to spend the next… decade ruminating on it so, is there anything I need to be concerned about, first?” Crowley queries, opening one eye to look at his angel, who makes a face in response. “Oh. _What?”_

“Magnus and Alec had a minor disagreement over Alec’s mortality, and Alec’s determination for that not to be a thing anymore, as a result, Magnus is out cold.” Aziraphale explains, running a hand through his hair.

“For Hell’s sake. Okay, I’ll dealt with that, was there anything else?”

“Err, no?”

“Right. So, then, in Heaven I was called the Archangel Raphael, when I Fell I became the Prince of Envy, Leviathan, and masqueraded as a lower demon named Crawley. Lucifer set us up in the Garden of Eden, because, apparently, he decided I needed a friend. So, contemplate this to your heart’s content.” Crowley announces, before climbing to his feet and all but strutting down the hall.

* * *

Alec dozes in the chair, Magnus’ hand still held tightly in his own as he hovers on the edge of consciousness. Until he hears the door open and he’s on his feet instantly, reaching for a bow that he left behind at the Institute.

“Nice reflexes.” The being he thinks is Crowley says with a little smirk, as they step into the room, shutting the door behind them. “Pity you don’t actually have a weapon, though.” They say, conjuring themselves a chair on Magnus’ other side and sinking down into it. Alec watches as they reach out to take Magnus’ free hand into their own, as what Alec thinks is pitch black magic surges forward from Crowley, but then Alec notes the gold flecked through it, like stars in the night sky.

Alec is more certain with every moment that this being in front of him is a demon, and more than that, that they are one of the oldest beings Alec has ever met.

“So, what have you decided, then?” Crowley queries, looking up at him with his snake eyes.

“What?”

“About me. What have you decided?”

“You’re a demon.” Alec answers, the words feeling right, in a way little else has lately.

“Correct. Do you know which demon, though?”

“What?”

“It’ll be common knowledge soon, so I might as well tell you.” Crowley considers, cocking his head to the side. “Does the name Leviathan mean anything to you?” he asks, and Alec feels a cold settle on his heart. The _earliest _records of demonic history that the Clave possess talk about the Greater Demon Leviathan, the Prince of Envy, he whose domain is _Earth _itself. Leviathan was believed to have died long ago or, at the very least, to have been banished into the ether.

“That’s not possible.”

“’Tis. I’ve been masquerading as a demon called Crowley since Eden. Not much call for Leviathan’s work when I’m able to get it done as Crowley.” Crowley answers, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Of course, now I’m letting the secret out, so…”

“Why are you telling me?”

“Well, it appears you’re in need of a way to become immortal. I won’t make you any promises, but Above needs healers, since most of mine Fell with me.” The demon explains, in a way that doesn’t explain anything at all, only… it does.

“Yours?”

“Once upon a time, my Mother named me Raphael, Her Healer.” Crowley replies, a sad little smile forming on his lips. “When I Fell, there were countless days where my brethren Fell after me, Hell calls it the Fall of Raphael, believing that I had died, and my Healers Fell in response. Heaven calls it the Desertion, for much the same reason.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“If I teach you everything that I can, one day you will die, then perhaps, like Jesus before you, you will rise again as an angel, if that is Mother’s wish. I make no promises, but this is a path Magnus will not begrudge you. You take no risks, you live a good and full life, and at the end, it is the Almighty who decides your fate.”

“Oh.” Alec exclaims, feeling incredibly overwhelmed, he didn’t even know that it was possible for Shadowhunters to become genuine angels when they died. He knows they consign their souls to Heaven, but he didn’t think it meant like _that. _“I have no magic; how can I learn what you have to teach?”

“Do you have your stele?” the demon questions, looking across at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course.” Alec replies, pulling the item from his pocket and rolling it in his hands.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Crowley says, pulling one of his hands from Magnus’, where that black-gold magic still flows from the other. Crowley holds out his hand and waits until Alec finally places the stele into it, waits for the burn that normally comes from demons or Downworlders touching the adamas, but nothing happens.

“How are you doing that?” Alec queries, staring wide eyed at the demon’s unburnt hand.

“Angels and _some _demons are the same species, you know?” the demon queries, twirling the stele between his fingers then drawing an unfamiliar rune on the top of his other hand. The rune glows a sickly red. “Our languages are born of the same root.”

“But the Adamas-“

“Sure, it’s a holy metal, there’s no denying that, but it’s not the same as Heaven-forged metals. Those would burn me at the slightest provocation. But that has more to do with intent and belief than anything else. The intent of the Blacksmiths to craft weapons capable of smiting demons. The belief of those same demons that the weapon will be enough to truly harm them. Your Iron Sisters are good, but their will is not as strong as my own.” Crowley explains, before twirling the stele again. “I’ll show you something else, too.” He says, and before Alec can react, the demon is drawing yet another unfamiliar rune on Magnus’ wrist, right over the pulse point, it looks oddly like a serpent, like the tattoo on Crowley’s face. Alec watches in silent awe as the rune begins to glow that same sickly red.

“But-“

“Magnus is more Nephilim than _you. All_ the children of Fallen Angels are. They burn if they notice a rune drawn on their skin, because they _believe _they should. Unconsciously, Magnus magic recognizes the rune, the language it is drawn in and the power behind it is familiar to him. Consciously, though, Magnus would recoil from it, would fear it and his fear would give it the power to destroy him.” Crowley explains, continuing to draw unfamiliar runes up Magnus’ arm.

“What are they?” Alec questions, leaning closer to get a better look at the runes.

“Various healing runes. Magnus is… I don’t know what has been happening these past few months, but he is a mess, mind, body, and spirit.” Crowley answers, looking at Alec with a question clear in his eyes that he will not voice. Alec looks away. “One of you will tell me, in time.” The demon says, almost to himself before sighing. “Pay attention.” He demands, and Alec finds himself turning back to him. “These first three runes assist Magnus’ body in healing, specifically in healing his magical channels and any other damage I might have missed that he caused himself with his foolishness. The next two focus on purifying his blood, in demon terms, that means it ensures there are no bloodborne illnesses or infections beginning to take root.” The demon exclaims, pointing out the runes drawn along Magnus’ arm in turn.

“I didn’t know there were runes for that, we only have… basic healing runes.”

“Your Silent Brothers guard the secrets of your healing runes. But I’ll teach you them, anyway, I just won’t draw them on myself or Magnus.”

“Why? You said it has to do with belief?” Alec queries, as he watches Crowley draw a set of runes on Magnus’ face, starting on his forehead and slowly moving down the side of his head to the dip of his neck.

“It is about belief, but I’m not foolish enough to scrawl Heaven’s words upon my body and think I will not pay for it in some form or another. This is Hell’s language.” Crowley explains, indicating the runes he’s drawn. “More specifically, this is Edom’s language, for that is where Magnus draws the bulk of his strength.”

“I didn’t realize Edom _has_ a language.” Alec is learning that there is a lot that he does not know.

“All the Hellscapes have a language specific to them, we also share a common language as well, the language that was born when we all dwelt in Gehenna with Lucifer.” Crowley answers, before frowning. “Now, these runes are all about strengthening and repairing the mind. Healing over fractures, clearing up memories, assisting in recovering from trauma, that sort of thing.”

“Again, I didn’t know those existed! Why don’t we know about any of these runes?” Alec exclaims, angrily crossing his arms over his chest. Clary makes a few runes that help them all out immensely and the angels throw a hissy fit, even though, apparently, they’ve been sitting on a bunch of useful runes since Jonathan Shadowhunter became the first of their kind!

“Oh, what have the angels done, now?” Crowley queries, and it’s only then that Alec realizes he’d said all that out loud.

“Raziel is trying to steal my friend’s runes and her memories, because they got annoyed that she created an alliance rune to allow Shadowhunters and Downworlders to share power.” He huffs and angrily glares at the floor. “It’s not like the power allowed her to defeat Jonathan, or anything.”

“Oh, I can fix that.”

“Aziraphale said he’d talk to some guy called Adam about fixing it.” Alec replies, looking up at Crowley, notes the frown that forms on his face.

“No, I’d prefer to fix that, actually. Don’t need my siblings taking any further interest in Adam. I’ll take care of that. It is very much up my alley.”

“How so?” Alec queries, not sure if he should be afraid or excited by the sly smirk that begins to form on Crowley’s face.

“Nephilim are stronger than their angelic parents. Ithuriel, Raziel, Cassiel, and Sandalphon are all equally as strong as each other, any children they have are stronger than any of them. Ithuriel’s blood flows through Clary’s veins, in angelic terms, she_ is_ Ithuriel’s child. Therefore, she is stronger than he is, and she is stronger than Raziel is. It’s probably why Raziel is _trying _to take from her, because she’s consciously resisting him. Raziel is _envious_, and that’s my realm of influence.” Crowley states, his eyes glowing. “Yessss, I believe I’ll take care of thisss.”

“Could Clary fight it off on her own?”

“Perhaps. I’m not certain and I wouldn’t risk it.” Crowley replies, shaking his head, before he carefully pulls back Magnus’ blanket and unbuttons his shirt, to draw a rune Alec vaguely recognizes over Magnus’ heart.

“That’s Yin and Yang.”

“Eh, sort of, the demonic version anyway.” Crowley agrees, finishing the rune and watching it glow red, before he’s buttoning Magnus’ shirt back up, and tucking in the blanket again. “That rune shores up his spirit, his soul.”

“Right.” Alec murmurs, before startling when the demon throws the stele at him, barely catching it in time.

“Your turn.”

“What?”

“Your turn to draw the runes. You and I, and Aziraphale out there, are all equally responsible for the state Magnus is in right now. Yes, Magnus isn’t an innocent party, either, but we all bear responsibility, so we all help how we can to fix this. You start by drawing these runes that will help him heal.” Crowley answers, sitting back to cross his arms over his chest. “Come on, then. The runes aren’t going to draw themselves.”

“Right.” Alec mutters, before finally climbing to his feet to go and get a proper look at all the runes Crowley drew, so he can copy them perfectly. As far as making amends goes, this is something he’s never tried before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Earth is Leviathan's domain. He IS the origin of the World Serpent myth...
> 
> I tried to write Aziraphale's reaction to Crowley's news but I just was not feeling it, so Aziraphale is thinking on this in his library.


	8. Felled In the Night (By the Ones You Think You Love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Crowley talk, Aziraphale contemplates and makes a decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing my Assignment for Uni that's due in two days, but today alone I have changed my topic three times (after getting halfway each time) so you can imagine how well that is going (but I think I've settled on the topic now, so fingers crossed). What that means, though, is that I sped typed this and now I'm going to bed, so if there are obvious mistakes, please just ignore them, I'll fix them in the morning!
> 
> Chapter title: Daniel in the Den by Bastille

Magnus wakes slowly to the feel of a warm hand clenched tight in his own and the familiar feeling of Crowley’s snake form curled up on his chest. Something Magnus has become very, very used to in his life, since it’s Crowley’s number one favourite method of making sure Magnus doesn’t get up and wander about when he’s injured and supposed to be resting.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing?” he grumbles at the snake, who looks at him with his glowing golden eyes.

“No.” Crowley replies, flicking his tongue out. Magnus huffs and turns his head slightly to see who is still holding his hand in a death grip, finds that his heart has suddenly relocated to his throat when he sees Alec slumped over the bed, fast asleep.

“You couldn’t get him a bed or something?” Magnus queries, looking back at the snake, who slithers off of him and down onto the empty chair at his side, forming back into Crowley.

“No. I told him he should go and sleep on the couch, at least, but he told me he was comfortable where he was. Stubborn fool.” Crowley replies, draping himself over his own chair. “You picked him, love, don’t look at me.” Crowley says, obviously in response to the look Magnus knows he’s sending him. Magnus frowns then, considers Crowley’s words.

“You _approve_ of this one?” he asks, gripping his freehand into the mattress as he tries to sit up, only succeeding when Crowley hisses and leaps forward to assist him.

“You are not getting out of bed!” the demon assures him with a stern glare, before sinking back down into the chair. “But… yes, I approve of this one.”

“That’s a first.” Magnus mutters, a little wide eyed, and a lot exhausted from just that simple movement. “You’ve _never _approved of my choices before.”

“That’s not true, I just didn’t think any of them were for you, and I was _correct.” _Crowley points out, a smug little grin on his face. “This one is yours. Utterly, and completely, bloody _yours!_”

“What does that even mean?” Magnus asks, looking back over at Alec, who is somehow managing to sleep even through them making so much noise.

“You’ll figure it out.” Crowley answers, handing Magnus a little black ball, that Magnus absolutely doesn’t recognize.

“What’s this?” Magnus asks, closing his hand around the ball.

“Something I don’t think you were supposed to see yet.” Crowley replies, shrugging his shoulders. “You and your lover-boy have too many secrets. Share some of them with each other and you might find things get a little easier.” Crowley advises, causing Magnus to huff. He _knows _he and Alexander have so much to learn about each other and they have so far to go when it comes to their communication, but they’re coming at their relationship from two different places and it’s so _hard _sometimes.

“Yeah. Have you told Azzy about _your _secret yet?” Magnus queries, to bring attention away from himself as he looks up from the ball.

“Yes. He’s contemplating that situation as we speak.”

“Oh, so you’re hiding.” Magnus murmurs, with an amused smile on his face as he nods, laughing at the put upon look on Crowley’s face.

“I’m not hiding, I’m giving him _space. _Besides, I have a patient to watch over and a protegee to teach.”

“Protegee?”

“Oh, yes, almost forgot.” Crowley says, sitting up straight and smirking at Magnus. “I’ve solved your idiot’s immortality problem. He’s my protegee now, I’ll teach him everything I know about healing and, hopefully, when he dies, the Almighty will decide to make him one of Her angels.”

“Oh.” Magnus exclaims, blinking at the demon while his mind threatens to just completely shut down at this latest revelation. “Oh, that’s…that’s, oh…”

“No need to thank me.” Crowley tells him, a fond look on his face that makes Magnus’ heart do flips in his chest. Crowley might be a demon, but he’s always done a pretty good job of showing how much he cares for the people in his life. “Besides, Heaven is _really _lacking in Healers. Especially in today’s climate, most mundane healers all but throw themselves into Hell, the superstar ones, anyway. Mammon was always a little bit _too_ good at her job”

“Right.” Magnus answers, looking down at he and Alec’s joint hands again, that’s when he notices the sickly red runes glowing up his arm. “What?”

“Oh, don’t mind those, they’re speeding up your recovery and they were Alec’s first lesson.” Crowley says immediately, almost too quickly and Magnus’ narrows his eyes. “Alright, you’ll notice you aren’t currently burning, so please don’t get any stupid thoughts in your head when I tell you that Alec and I drew those using Alec’s stele.”

“But-“

“The adamas. Yes, yes, yes. I’ve already gone over this with Alec, but I’ll go over it again with you. You might notice the runes are drawn in Edom’s tongue.” Crowley comments, raising an eyebrow and obviously waiting for some confirmation from Magnus, so he nods. “They are completely and wholly safe for you to bear. The most dangerous part of the whole process was the adamas, but your will is stronger than the will of the Iron Sisters, and the language of Edom is older, stronger than they will ever be. You are _safe. _I promise.”

“No, I-I trust you, I just-“ Magnus stops talking and shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the runes. “It’s just weird.”

“I tested it on myself first.” Crowley answers, holding out his hand and waggling his fingers to show Magnus the strength rune drawn onto the back of Crowley’s hand.

“What do _you _need strength for?” Magnus asks, bewildered, regretting the question when he sees the way Crowley slumps. “Crowley?”

“I think the worst thing about falling is the damage it does to your wings.” Crowley answers, and Magnus watches as the pair of black wings unfold from Crowley’s back. They’ve always been beautiful to Magnus, but, like with his father’s wings, he’s always been able to see the imperfections in them. “I did a bit of flying today. When I finally get around to sleeping, it’ll be a _good_ sleep.”

“You should go and rest, then.” Magnus tells him, frowning. “I’ll be fine and I won’t even get out of bed and I promise I won’t even argue with Alec about _anything!_”

“It’s fine, Magnus. I’m a big boy, I can wait a little while.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Magnus replies, narrowing his eyes. “Medice, cura te ipsum!” He commands, refusing to take no for an answer. He smirks when Crowley merely sighs at him.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Crowley grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. “You rest as well, no magic use, no getting out of bed, no arguing.”

“Promise. Sleep well.” Magnus tells him, a giant grin on his face. “Not often I get to boss you around.”

“Laugh it up, kiddo, it’s not going to last.” Crowley assures him, before heading out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Magnus snorts, and rolls his eyes, before turning to look at Alec, relishing the opportunity to once again watch the Shadowhunter sleep.

* * *

Aziraphale doesn’t really know how long he stands in the living room staring at the chair Crowley had been sitting in, but he does know that time has been passing around him when he finally shakes himself free of the shock. What a shock it is, too, he thinks to himself, as he heads to his library on suddenly unsteady legs.

He’s always wondered about Crowley’s origins, about who he was in Heaven, about what exactly he did to fall, but he doesn’t need to wonder anymore, because now he knows. Crowley was once the Archangel Raphael, he who was impartial, he who stood between Michael and Samael when they fought and tried to keep the peace. The Archangel Raphael, who flew to Gehenna and pulled Samael from the rubble the First Demon created with his impact. The Archangel Raphael, who nursed Samael back to health and named him Lucifer, the Morning’s Star, for the light he had made in the morning sky as he’d Fallen. The Archangel Raphael who refused time and time again to take up a side in the Great War. Healing angel and demon alike no matter how much Michael and Gabriel protested.

Now that he knows, Aziraphale can see it. Can see the remnants of Raphael in the demon that is Crowley, in the demon that is also Leviathan. The demon who fought so strongly not to fight. The demon who always had such strong ideas of what was acceptable and what wasn’t. The demon who heard of the Great Flood and voiced his disgust, while Aziraphale, an angel, had accepted what was to come without complaint.

_Fuck rainbows, anyway._

Aziraphale remembers how Crowley had _raged _in the months and years that had followed the flood as Man began to recover. He remembers Crowley’s vehement hissing fits about rainbows and their absolute uselessness, that have lasted even until today. No matter how far Crowley has fallen, there are still lines he refuses to cross. Sometimes, Crowley’s moral code is so strict it even put Aziraphale to shame.

_Like that stupid bloody flood!_

Aziraphale wonders if anyone has bothered to tell Adam the story of the Flood yet, wonders if Adam would react the way Crowley has. Wonders if Adam would have thrown a hissy fit of epic proportions if there’d been a rainbow after the Apocalypse that Wasn’t.

_I’d have thrown a fit._

Aziraphale sighs heavily and rubs at his eyes. This new information changes nothing for him. Crowley is still Crowley, the same demon who stopped to chat with him in Eden, the same demon who assured him that he’d done the right thing with the sword. The same demon who has _continuously _assured him of his decisions when Aziraphale begins to doubt himself. Raphael, Leviathan, Crawley, Crowley. They’re all the same. It doesn’t matter what name he carries or what face he wears, he is still Aziraphale’s oldest and dearest friend and, may he say, something even greater.

Besides, now Aziraphale can stop worrying that their mere friendship will one day be the death of Crowley, since Leviathan answers only to Lucifer and Lucifer, apparently, is the one who set them up to meet in the first place.

“Oh, dear, I think that might be the oddest thing about this entire reveal.” Aziraphale murmurs to his books, feeling oddly ill. “Are you allowed to thank the _devil _for manipulating events so you’d meet your dearest friend?” He queries his other, oldest and dearest friends, and doesn’t receive an answer, he never does. But they’re always very good listeners. “You’re right, I shouldn’t worry about it.” He tells himself, going to make himself a cup of tea and contemplate things some more, even though he has already made his decision. It never hurts to make sure you've considered all angles.

No matter what he considers though, Crowley is and always will be, his friend.


	9. I Slithered Here From Eden (Just to Sit Outside Your Door)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Alec discuss a certain case, Crowley and Aziraphale discuss Nephilim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, good news submitted my assignment, bad news, started a new show to binge and my friend and I have started playing Divinity Original Sin 2 so I may be distracted from writing. Ooops.
> 
> Chapter title: From Eden by Hozier

At some point, Magnus had freed his hand from Alec’s death grip, miraculously without waking up the sleeping Shadowhunter. He’d immediately taken to rolling the black ball in his hands until he’d realized that it wasn’t a ball at all, but a case. Figuring out how to open it took a matter of seconds, then he’d lost all track of time, staring at its precious contents.

“Magnus, you’re awake!” Alec’s voice jolts him from his staring and he has to tear his eyes away, to look up at Alec. “Where did you find that?” The Shadowhunter asks, his eyes locked onto the ring, something that Magnus thinks might be fear shining in his eyes.

“Crowley gave it to me.” Magnus answers, turning his attention back to the ring like it is the most fascinating thing he has ever seen and it just might be. “Is this what I think it is?”

“What do you think it is?”

“I promised Crowley I wasn’t going to argue with you.” Magnus answers instead, sliding the case closed and holding it out. “It doesn’t matter. You didn’t ask, so I have nothing to say.”

“And if I were to ask you?” Alec asks, refusing to take back the ring, instead closing Magnus’ hand over the case. Magnus considers the question, considers the last three months of his life, considers the state of his magic, the state of his mind, and shakes his head.

“It doesn’t feel right.” He finally answers, trying once again to give Alec back the case. "Maybe one day, though."

“No, keep it. It’s yours, even if you never say yes. I guess, if you give it back to me one day or I see you wearing it, I guess I’ll have my answer.” Alec tells him, gently pushing his hand away. Magnus frowns at him, sees the serious set to Alec’s jaw, and the determination in his eyes, and he nods, moving to put the case on the bedside table instead.

“I’ll ask Crowley to make me a chain for it.” He murmurs, before turning back to Alec. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“For?”

“It’s not often you get to become the protegee for the First Healer in Creation.” Magnus points out, an amused smirk on his face. “How are you going to justify to the Clave the fact you’re apprenticing to a Prince of Hell?”

“I’m not going to tell them.” Alec answers, rolling his eyes. “It’s none of their business, Crowley has been on Earth for thousands of years, if he was going to cause trouble… the bad kind of trouble, he’d have been dealt with by now.”

“Mmm, no. Maybe before he and Azzy had their little ‘Agreement’, but not after that. Aizraphale wouldn’t have let any of your kind at him.” Magnus replies, shaking his head.

“He’s one angel.”

“One angel, one demon, one warlock child, three mundane children, one witch, one technologically challenged mundane, an old fraud, and a psychic saved our world a few months ago, Alec. I wouldn’t doubt the power of an angel, not ever, especially not one as well read as Aziraphale.” Magnus cautions, reaching out to take Alec’s hand into his own. “You’ll learn this in your training with Crowley, but angels really aren’t to be trifled with unless you know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, we learnt that lesson with Clary.” Alec, finally, reluctantly agrees.

“What’s wrong with Biscuit?” Magnus demands, his eyes narrowing.

“Nothing you need to worry about! Crowley said he’d fix it, so you’re going to let him fix it.”

“But-“

“No buts. You can’t help here right now, anyway, you aren’t allowed to use your magic.” Alec scolds, but Magnus can’t accept that. Clary is his friend, someone who has become very near and dear to him and he can’t just abandon her if she needs him. “_Magnus.”_ He pauses, frowning at the way Alec’s voice breaks over his name. “_Please, _for once take care of yourself _first, _and the rest of the world second. Clary is _fine_, or she will be when Crowley is finished, okay? She’d want you to get better before trying to help her, anyway.”

“Fine.” Magnus huffs, sinking back against his pillows. “Fine, I’ll let it go.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

It’s an unhellish hour when Crowley finally manages to crawl out of bed feeling utterly and wonderfully refreshed. Sleep, he thinks, might be his absolute favourite of his Mother’s creations… after Aziraphale, of course. Waking up is probably his _least _favourite thing in Creation, but it does mean he’ll eventually get to enjoy falling to sleep again, so, there is that to consider.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” speaking of his most favourite thing in Creation, there he is. The former Guardian of the Eastern Gate has his nose in a book, but he does look up to greet him.

“Afternoon, Aziraphale.” Crowley mumbles, sinking down into his designated armchair and slumping back into the cushions. “Done pondering, I take it?”

“Oh, yes, very much so.” Aziraphale agrees with a smile so bright he has to look away for fear of burning.

“And what have we decided?”

“Well, nothing has really changed, has it?” Aziraphale asks, Crowley’s neck almost snaps with the speed at which he turns back to look at the angel.

“What?”

“Well, you’ve always been Raphael, haven’t you? And you’ve always been Leviathan, too. You’ve just always been Crowley, as well. Nothing’s really changed, it’s not like you’re suddenly going to take off to Hell and become like Beelzebub, is it?” the angel queries, smiling when Crowley shudders.

“Heaven, no! Besides, Earth is my territory, my siblings would very quickly throw me out if I went down there and tried to pull anything.” He answers, with a sigh.

“Well, there you are then. Nothing has changed.” Aziraphale announces, as if that is all there is to it and, oddly, Crowley thinks that just might be it. “Also, since you’re stronger than Raziel, would you mind taking care of a little problem for one of Magnus and Alec’s friends?”

“Oh yes, the Morgenstern girl. Alec told me about that.” He exclaims, sitting up straight, or what passes for straight as far as he is concerned. “I’m not going into their little Institute, so the girl is just going to have to meet me somewhere that isn’t hallowed ground.”

“Oh, of course. It’s a church, isn’t it? I’m not sure if the place has been properly sanctified, but best not to risk it.” Aziraphale easily agrees with a little sigh. “Why not meet in the park outside the Institute?”

“Well, once the two lovebirds wake up, I’ll ask Alec to request his friend meet in the park. Until then, what have you been reading?” Crowley questions, trying to get a good look at the title of the book Aziraphale is reading, and failing.

“It’s one of Magnus’ books, actually. Magical Methods of Transportation: The Strengths and Weaknesses, the Hows and Whys.” Aziraphale replies, with an easy smile forming on his lips.

“That was his second book, wasn’t it?” Crowley asks, his brow furrowing as he tires to remember. “The first was on the tunnels that connect the Hellscapes to Gehenna, if I remember correctly.

“You do.” Aziraphale says with a nod. “The third was the Rise of the Nephilim and the Fall of the Downworld.”

“Ironic, now that he’s apparently all up in Shadowhunter business.” Crowley murmurs, shaking his head. “Do you think we should introduce him to Adam?”

“We’ll have to introduce them at some point, but you know what Magnus is like. We’ll leave them alone for five minutes and when we come back, Adam will be portalling all over the globe, getting into all sorts of trouble.” The angel points out, causing Crowley to laugh as he concedes the point.

“Salazar never gives me these types of troubles; all he did was set up a school for warlocks and then sit himself down there for the rest of time.” He grumbles, glaring at the ceiling.

“Salazar thinks you hung the bloody moon, Crowley.” Aziraphale responds, then he laughs, and Crowley’s heart leaps at the sound of it. “Morgana is so much more of a handful than Magnus has ever been, you cannot deny it!”

“Oh, that’s so true. But at least she’s become incredibly good at looking after herself.” Crowley agrees, sighing. “I still call bullshit on the whole Merlin thing, though. There is _no way_ that man isn’t Michael’s. Actually, where the heaven is Merlin lately, anyway? Two apocalypses within a year? That’s normally right up his alley!”

“Not sure, perhaps you should ask Magnus that one?”

“Hmm. Maybe I will.” Crowley responds before frowning. “Salazar absolutely _does _give me these types of headaches.” He blurts out, causing Aziraphale to laugh again.

“Remembered the basilisk, have you?”

“Bloody fool is far too in love with snakes for his own good. I think he’ll die of rapture if I show him _either _of my snake forms.” He mutters, scowling at the thought. “You know who has never given me any problems? Rincewind.”

“Only because he got himself trapped in the Disc and can’t figure out how to get out, or even that he should be trying to get out. One can’t actually _die _in the Disc, Crowley. Therefore, not dying in the Disc is _not _an accomplishment.” Aziraphale emphatically points out, to Crowley’s absolute amusement.

“At this point, I’m afraid of letting the daft sod out of there.” He admits, with a shake of his head. “I’ve considered just giving the Disc to Belphegor and telling them to watch over their own idiot son for a change.”

“You know, I think Beelzebub’s child might actually be the least problematic.” Aziraphale says with a thoughtful look on his face that just makes Crowley frown.

“Deadly Nedly is the child you think is the least problematic?”

“Well, you might have a point there, but he’s very sweet.” The angel responds, sounding slightly defensive.

“You just like him because he makes amazing pie.” Crowley mutters, smiling at the indignant sound his angel makes.

“That’s not true. Alright, it might be a little bit true.” The angel concedes with a sigh. “They’re good pies. _So good._”

“That would be how Beelzebub’s power comes into things, yes.”

“Of course, but I don’t care!” Aziraphale exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest in a pout. “I saved the planet; I’m allowed to indulge in some damned good pie!”

“Literally damned.”

“Shut up, Crowley!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I finally decided who the other Demonic Nephilim are  
Lucifer's child is Adam.  
Crowley doesn't have a child (or does he, I haven't decided yet)  
Asmodeus' child is Magnus.  
Satan's child is Salazar (yes, Salazar Slytherin, in this universe, he made the Spiral Labyrinth for Warlocks and is still hanging out there today, and yes he did still try to hide a basilisk beneath the school... Crowley was absolutely fucking livid)  
Beelzebub gets Ned from Pushing Daisies <3 His pies are so good as a combination of the fruit being brought back to the prime of their life AND the fact Ned's inherited some of his parent's Temptation  
Mammon has Morgana (who is off up to as much mischief as she possibly can be at all times)  
Belphegor gets Rincewind (the entire Discworld Universe is actually stuck inside a magical Disc World, and Rincewind is trapped in there, as his soul powers the Disc, he can't actually be killed while trapped inside... hence Deaths' Near-Rincewind Experiences)
> 
> And Michael has Merlin. Michael got away with this by having Merlin before the Nephilim Ban on angels was put in place, but she will forever deny it for Merlin's own safety. (Merlin is actually Ragnor, and he's totally alive in this story, just, you know, unavailable).


	10. You Were the Light and The Way They'll Only Read About (I Only Pray Heaven Knows When to Lift You Out)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has pie, Magnus and Alec discuss the mysterious angel/demon pair, Clary gets fixed, Magnus finds out a few truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but then I started picking at it and I've been picking at it since I got home from work, I'm still not HAPPY with it, but it'll do because otherwise I'll just get pissy and not come back to it for days (or ever). So, here. 
> 
> Title is from Then Thousand Days (Wings, Part 2) by Tool

Crowley’s sitting at the dining table glaring darkly at the most _heavenly_ smelling Apple Pie in existence as Aziraphale happily waxes poetic about it. Crowley honestly shouldn’t be surprised that his idiot angel nipped out down to Coeur d’Coeurs for pie, but for some reason he is.

“How’s Ned?” He mumbles, refusing to move his head from where it is very precisely resting on his closed fist.

“Ned is doing wonderfully and I might have used a bit of miracle magic to solve that ‘undead’ issue with his darling.” Aziraphale admits, between bites of pie. “She’s very lovely, have you taken the time to speak with her, yet?”

“Uhm, no thanks. The girl is too happy! Always with the smiling and trying to help people. It’s weird.” He grumbles, increasing his scowling power at the pie in the hopes it might burst into flames.

“Crowley, dear, you are a _demon.” _His angel points out, sounding so utterly exasperated that Crowley can’t help the smile that twitches at his lips.

“Exactly. She’s too smiley, yet she’s honestly perfect for Ned, it’s mind boggling. He’s the son of a Prince of Hell!”

“Yes, but I think we might have neglected to actually tell him that little tidbit. Since he is also with the smiling and the helping people.”

“He brings things back from the dead! I’m certain he’s figured out by now that he’s not normal, Aziraphale!”

“Well, yes. I’d certainly hope so…” the angel concedes, cutting himself another slice of pie. “Are you sure you don’t want any pie? It’s really _very _good.”

“No, thank you.” Crowley says, finally looking away from the pie and frowning when he sees the door to Magnus’ room open. “Looks like the lovebirds are up.” He mutters to Aziraphale, who looks up in time to see Alec step out.

“Oh, Alec, did you want some pie? It’s the most amazing pie.” Aziraphale gushes, far too happily, as Alec comes towards them, the Shadowhunter pauses on the spot to look cautiously at Aziraphale, before turning to Crowley with an expression that clearly states “help me” and “what the fuck?”

“Alec doesn’t want any pie, Zira.” Crowley answers for the Shadowhunter, rolling his eyes. “What’s up?”

“Magnus wants to know if he’s allowed to actually get out of bed tomorrow?” Alec asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He was allowed out of bed the other day and immediately sent himself back there!” Crowley argues, finally sitting up and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s he so desperate to get out of bed for, anyway?”

“I told him about Clary.” Alec answers, with a heavy sigh, pulling out one of the spare chairs at the table and all but collapsing into it. “He’s promised to let you handle it, but he wants to be there.”

“Oh. I was planning on going once I’d gotten you to text them to meet in the park.” Crowley admits, drumming his fingers on the table. “Well, the runes are going to be doing most of the recovery work for him, as long as he doesn’t keep trying to use his magic for at least another three days. I don’t see a problem with him going.” Crowley finally says, noting the pleased smile that lights up the Shadowhunters face. “_But, no magic_.”

“He knows.”

“Good, go help him shower, make sure he doesn’t fall and knock himself out.”

“Are you really worried about that?” Alec asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“The runes are giving him a very false sense of his own strength at the moment, Alec. The moment he tries to put any weight on his feet, you’ll see what I mean.” Crowley answers, waving him away. “Go on. And text your friends to meet us in the park outside the Institute in one hour.”

“Got it.” Alec says, turning to head back to Magnus’ room.

“I’ll miracle Magnus some clothing.” Aziraphale says, climbing to his feet and sending Crowley a look. “I’m interested in meeting the Children of Ithuriel.”

“Mmm, you and me both.”

* * *

Getting Magnus through the shower is more of an experience than Alec expected. He’s been through his fair share of post-battle showers with Jace, the pair of them leaning against each other for strength as they’d washed the blood, ichor, and death away, but this is different. Alec realizes exactly what Crowley had been meaning the moment Magnus tries to stand and almost immediately collapses, Alec just grabbing him in time to keep him from faceplanting the floor.

“Fuck!” Magnus exclaims, leaning heavily against Alec. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Crowley warned me that might happen.” Alec admits, with a frown. “Are you sure you’ll be able to come with us?”

“I’ll be fine.” Magnus promises, gripping tightly to Alec’s wrist and pushing himself to stand. Alec sighs at his warlock’s stubbornness but doesn’t argue.

“Fine, but I’m going to carry you to the bathroom.”

“Alec-“

“If you use up all your energy before we even leave, you’ll just be going straight back to bed.” Alec points out, watches the scowl that forms on Magnus’ face. “Magnus, there is nothing shameful in letting people help you when you are at your weakest. There is nothing wrong with being weak sometimes.”

“It’s _annoying.” _His warlock grumbles, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s_ temporary_. If you let yourself heal, you’ll be back to full strength in no time. If you try to push yourself when you’re not ready, you’ll just do more damage.” He cautions, feeling like he’s probably going to be saying this countless times in his future career as a healer.

“Only been his apprentice for a day, and already talking like a healer.” Magnus grumbles, but doesn’t argue when Alec scoops him up into his arms.

“Please, _Jace _is my Parabatai. This is the guy who freely says dumb shit things like ‘to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be the one destroyed’, you think I don’t have to fight with him whenever he gets himself almost fatally hurt?” Alec queries carry Magnus out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Wait, he says stuff like that?”

_“Yes!”_ Alec exclaims, shaking his head. “Clary has been such a goddamn godsend in that sense, because she’s like ‘what the fuck did you just even say?’ I’m so glad Jace is her problem now.” He mutters, crossing into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him.

“Who hurt him?” Magnus demands, a dark frown on his face, Alec sighs as he puts his warlock gently onto his feet.

“Valentine. But we don’t talk about it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Alec mutters, reaching up to help Magnus undress, he looks around to find the ‘miracled’ clothing Aziraphale had promised neatly folded and sitting on the bench. “Aziraphale thinks your clothing sense is similar to Crowley’s.” he says, before going to turn the shower on.

“What? Black?” Magnus queries, leaning against the shower door and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Black.” He confirms, with a nod.

“Well… that might be my fault, actually.” Magnus answers, a small blush on his cheeks. “I was going through a… phase the last time I ran into Crowley and Azzy. Everything was black.”

“Wow, you were a Goth before being Goth was a thing.” Alec teases, helping Magnus step into the shower.

“_Please._ Crowley has been Goth for as long as I’ve known him.” Magnus argues, shaking his head. “It’s like he’s in love with it or something.”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Alec asks, frowning at his warlock, wondering how Magnus could have missed something so bloody obvious.

“What?” Magnus asks, pressing his hand to the shower wall for support while he steps under the water stream, Alec notes the way he visibly relaxes when the water hits his skin. He also quietly notes the way the water sizzles when it touches Magnus' runes.

“They’re Yin and Yang.”

“Oh Lucifer, they’re Yin and Yang!” Magnus exclaims, resting his forehead on the wall in front of him. “I’m so blind!”

“You’re not. I imagine you probably had a thousand other things going on whenever you’ve run into them in the past.” Alec replies, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I doubt they’d take it well if we mentioned it.”

“Oh?”

“I get the sense Crowley doesn’t like being told he’s ‘good’ and I feel like Aziraphale might have a heart attack if we pointed out he might be a bit ‘bad.’” Alec answers, shaking his head. “Just a feeling.”

“Oh, no, that’s accurate.” Magnus agrees, with a little laugh. “Let’s not tell them.”

“Agreed. Let me help you with your hair.”

* * *

“Do you think we should tell Salazar about Adam?” Aziraphale questions, sinking back down into the chair at the table and frowning at the demon in front of him. The Demonic Nephilim have always been under Crowley’s jurisdiction and he’s always bowed to Crowley’s opinion on the topic of them, but he’s never shied away from voicing his own opinions. “Adam will need a mentor eventually.” 

“I was thinking of Morgana and Salazar together, actually. Maybe introducing him to Ned, too.” Crowley replies, Aziraphale thinks over his words and thinks he can see Crowley’s plan. Ned is an absolute sweetheart, an influence upon Adam that it doesn’t matter who his not-father is, it doesn’t have to define him. Morgana and Salazar to actually teach him to control his abilities, Morgana to show him the downfalls of greed and Salazar to show him the downfalls of wrath. The two main problems he will face as being one of the most powerful beings in creation.

“What about Merlin, when we figure out what he’s up to?” Aziraphale asks, raising an eyebrow. “_If _he is Michael’s, he is the only one who is Adam’s equal.”

“Well, we have to figure out what he’s up to these days, don’t we?” Crowley points out, with a huff. “But he’s done a pretty good job keeping Magnus alive and well these past few years.”

“That’s a good point.” Aziraphale replies, before they both fall into a companionable silence.

* * *

“It’s a portal, Alec.” Magnus grumbles, watching Alec stare suspiciously at the portal before them.

“It’s in the floor.”

“Yes, demonic portals usually are.” Magnus answers, sighing heavily and rolling his eyes at his Shadowhunter, sometimes Alec gets caught up on the silliest things.

“Most angelic portals are in the floor, too.” Aziraphale comments, looking cheerfully at the portal Crowley had formed. “Are we going?” he asks, looking between them all.

“Yes, we’re going.” Magnus mutters, gripping Alec’s hand tightly and pulling him forward into the portal with him, the Shadowhunter coming along willingly. He groans and tries to ignore the discomfort that is his entire body being flipped mid-transit, there is a reason he ensured his portals were formed in the air, and not in the floor.

“What the hell was that?” Alec exclaims, gripping to him tightly.

“That was portalling the real old-fashioned way.” Magnus answers, with a little grin. Stumbling a little as he tries to move to one of the benches to sit down. Alec huffs, but easily holds him up and pulls him along to a bench, pushing him down onto it.

“Don’t overdo it. The Strength rune will only compensate so much.”

“Yes, thank you, _doctor_. I’m aware.” Magnus teases, leaning into Alec’s side when the Shadowhunter sinks down beside him. They’d drawn the strength rune on Magnus after the shower, since Magnus had decided it would be too difficult otherwise. Though, Alec had only agreed to draw the rune if Magnus promised not to overdo it. Hence, sitting down.

“So, where is my patient?” Crowley queries, coming to stand beside them and looking around the park.

“Izzy said they’d be out in a few minutes.” Alec answers, looking up at the demon. “So, how are you going to help her?”

“You’ll see.” Crowley replies, with a mischievous grin. Magnus goes to say something, when his attention is pulled away by the sound of familiar voices getting closer.

“We’re letting a _demon _help Clary? Izzy, that’s insane!” Jace’s voice exclaims, the man himself still out of sight.

“I trust Alec, Jace, and Magnus will be there, too. Clary will be fine!” Izzy argues, as they come into view.

“It’s fine, Jace.” Clary states, sounding like there is nothing wrong, though Magnus can see the strain on her even from this distance, what he can also see is the way her runes flicker over her skin. Fading in and out of existence repeatedly.

“You are aware that it was a angel that has done this, aren’t you?” Crowley queries, before the trio can continue arguing. “But if you’d like to take your changes appealing to Raziel’s good graces, you are welcome to be my guest.”

“No, it’s fine.” Clary hisses, glaring at Jace.

“Clary-“

“Shut up, Jace.” She demands, stomping over to stand in front of Crowley. “So, what do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” Crowley answers, shaking his head. “I do not charge payment for healing.”

“Oh.” Clary exclaims, frowning at him, then at Magnus and Alec. Magnus notes the way her face seems to soften when she sees them. “You look as shit as I feel, Magnus.”

“Yeah, I feel about that way, too.” He answers, sighing heavily. “Crowley is telling the truth, Biscuit. You’re his patient, he won’t demand anything to heal you.”

“Okay.” She murmurs, nodding her head and turning back to the Crowley. “So, what do I need to do?”

“Did you bring your stele with you?” Crowley queries, miracling up a spare bench and guiding the Shadowhunter down onto it. Clary silently hands the stele over and they all watch as Crowley spins it between his fingers. “You know what everyone upstairs forgot and what Raziel probably didn’t give a shit about when he gave you the Grey Book, is that _I _was the one who created the Angelic Runes.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaims in shock, Magnus feels exactly the same.

“I had a lot of time on my hands before the Fall and I was always coming up with new ways to Heal, to Help.” Crowley points out with a grin, before slowly reaching out to take Clary’s hand into his own, his hand glows the black-gold of his magic as he assesses Clary. “Raziel’s also an idiot, because he’s trying to claim dominion over a child born with the blood of three archangels flowing through her veins.”

“What?” Clary’s voice isn’t the only one that demands in confusion.

“Clarissa _Morgenstern_. Did you never wonder at the origin of your family name?” Crowley queries, looking into her eyes. “Lux was born to Lucifer and Lilith before the Princes were locked into their respective Hells.” Crowley explains, with amusement. “Lux lived long enough to marry and father two children, before he was murdered in the Great War. Of those children one died in childhood, the other lived to marry and father their own child, and so on and so forth until the family were approached by the Shadowhunters, who did not know the family history. They declared their family name as their Shadowhunter name, made up a story to justify it to the Clave. Over the years, the family history was kept so secret that it was lost, and even the family began to believe the story they’d fed to the Clave. I lost track of the family a few centuries ago, when they resurfaced, I wasn't sure if they were Lux's descendants or not.”

“Lilith… has no children.” Magnus argues, frowning at the demon.

“That’s not true. Lilith had _one _child, back when she was mortal. Lux’s murder broke her mind, she became mad with grief and it was easy for Satan to tempt her down to hell. Over the years, she convinced herself that she never had children, that she’d been cursed to never have children because of her refusal to submit to Adam. It was easier to believe that than to know that she had a child and he was taken from her.” Crowley explains, letting his magic dissipate, and beginning to draw an unfamiliar rune on Clary’s skin, over her pulse point.

“But warlocks can’t have children.” 

“That’s also not true. _Some _warlocks can have children, but they believe so strongly that they cannot, that they cancel out almost any chance of them reproducing. Nothing is ever a certainty, though, so sometimes there are children born.” Crowley explains, still drawing the most intricate rune Magnus has ever seen, the demon not lifting the stele away for even a second. Magnus files Crowley's answer away to freak out over later. He has been very much his father's son over the years and apparently there's a chance he's also a father maybe a hundred times over!

“How can Clary have pure angel blood if she has Lucifer’s blood in her?” Alec queries, cocking his head to the side, his voice keeps Magnus from focusing in on the latest bombshell and he tightly grips Alec's hand, his Shadowhunter not even reacting to it, other to squeeze his hand. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“The Mortal Cup, if it works, purifies the blood while adding Raziel’s into the mix. Lucifer’s blood remembers what it was to be angelic, it wouldn’t have had any complaints about rolling over and returning to that state.” Crowley explains, finally pulling the stele away and they all watch in silence as the rune glows a vibrant golden, before Clary’s other runes stabilize, becoming solid black against her pale skin once more, all except the latest rune, which remains that beautiful gold. “There you are. No one will ever be able to steal your runes or your memories without your consent.”

“Is this a binding rune?” Clary asks, looking at the rune glowing on her wrist.

“Not quite.” Crowley answers, shaking his head. “It is a Control Rune, bound to your blood and your blood alone. Only you can remove the runes upon your body and only you can choose to remove your memories. That doesn’t mean someone can’t remove the memories from you, they just won’t be able to do it without you being willing.”

“I see.” Clary says, nodding her head in understanding. “What about Jonathan? He was a demon.”

“Just as Lucifer’s blood remembers how to be angelic, it also remembers how to be demonic. It would have been the first to shift when Lilith’s blood was introduced. Raziel’s blood would have been the hold out, but Jonathan was raised in Edom.” Crowley answers, as if that explains everything, and to Magnus, it does. He knows what Edom is like, more intimately than any of them except for Crowley.

“He never stood a chance.” He murmurs, looking away from all of them. “He was always going to become what he became.”

“Yes. Raised by Valentine or raised by Lilith, he was always going to become a demon. It would have taken a miracle to save him.”

“Why do you know so much about this?” Clary asks, frowning at Crowley, a light in her eyes that means her wonderful brain is working overtime. “And you created the Runes? Who were you? Before?”

“Well, you’re the Demon hunter.” Crowley replies, smirking. “How about you put your skills to good use and figure that out yourself?” He questions, forming himself a portal and stepping through it before anyone else can speak, leaving behind a group too shocked to even begin to know what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Great War, for the angels that is the great war between Heaven and Hell, for the Nephilim, it is the Great War between the Nephilim and the forces of Heaven and Hell (two different wars each called the Great War). 
> 
> I've also decided that Crowley has a child, whether they make an appearance in this story is a totally different matter. And no, Crowley has absolutely no bloody idea that he is a father. 
> 
> Now I have the debate of giving Magnus a kid or not... 
> 
> Raziel didn't realize Raphael fell. Only Gabriel and Michael (and the entire Healing Corp) know (or knew) that Upstairs, so Raziel thought he was honouring a dead brother when he gifted the Runes to the Shadowhunters...


	11. We Are the Greatest Pretenders (In the Cold Morning Light)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Michael talk, Ragnor meets someone new, Lorenzo almost has a heart attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I would like to state that this chapter had a goddamn mind of its own. Nothing that happened in this chapter was how I was planning things. I WAS planning on having Raphael (Santiago) drop in to see Magnus. That didn't happen. Was planning to have Aziraphale ask Magnus where Ragnor was and Magnus being like 'he dead'. Didn't happen. As a result of this shit, I've kind of thrown out the entire plan I had for this story and am absolutely just letting it take me wherever now, since apparently the plan is done. 
> 
> Also, based on Magnus' whole 'Ragnor isn't stronger than me' comment in the first part of Season 1, I've decided that Magnus has absolutely no FUCKING clue that Ragnor is actually the strongest of all of them (aside from Adam) and that Ragnor pretty much has the entire warlock community eating out of the palm of his hand... Magnus hears the rumours and stuff, people grumbling about some shit Ragnor supposedly did and Magnus is just like 'that's hilarious. Ragnor would never do that." except Ragnor totally absolutely DID do that. Although, I will say that Mangus has come by his achievements honestly. 
> 
> Ignore any Doctor Who canon for Merlin, aside from the fact that the Doctor occasionally masqueraded as Merlin during their time on Earth in that era. (and that time he did become King of England and had to abdicate so Arthur could have his fucking throne back). There isn't really a version of Merlin that this one relates to...
> 
> Title: Get Home by Bastille

Crowley steps out of the portal into the living room and sinks into his armchair, before digging in his pockets for his phone, once he finds it, he searches for a very specific number and dials, putting the phone to his ear and waiting.

“You owe me an apology.” His sister’s sweet voice demands when the call connects.

“What?”

“You almost let me _murder_ you, Raphael!” she hisses down the line and he laughs.

“Please, Zira and I swapped places.” Crowley replies with a little smile pulling at his lips. “And it's _Crowley,_ now. Besides, weren’t you all for fighting and killing us?”

“Of course not! I’ve spent the last eleven years trying to convince _your _twin that it wasn’t time. Isn’t he supposed to be the herald of the Apocalypse? He tried to blow_ the_ Trumpet, but it wouldn’t even let him touch it. Shouldn’t that have been a hint to your dumb other half?” Michael replies, sounding utterly exhausted, Crowley snorts.

“Nah uh, he’s _your_ problem now, Lucifer is mine. The family that falls together, stays together.”

“_Why_ are you like this?” Michael whines, Crowley laughs.

“I’m the way my Mother intended me to be.” Crowley answers, without missing a beat. “Anyway, I did actually have a reason for calling.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“You remember Merlin, your not-son?” Crowley queries, finding it oddly amusing that Lucifer _and _Michael are both not-parents to not-sons.

“I vaguely remember this child, yes.” Michael answers, trying to sound nonchalant, but Crowley knows his sister and can hear the tension brimming beneath the surface.

“He’s missing.”

“I thought you were meant to be watching him?” Michael growls, but Crowley just shakes his head.

“Outside my jurisdiction, your dear not-child is _angelic _Nephilim, in case you have forgotten. Isn’t that supposed to be Raziel and Ithuriel’s area?”

“Ithuriel is in the process of being recorporated and Raziel has been busy.”

“Yes, he’s been trying to steal the runes from a child carrying his blood alongside Ithuriel’s and Lucifer’s.”

“That idiot!” Michael snarls, Crowley smiles at what he thinks might be the sound of her stamping her foot hard on the ground. “I’m going to have him demoted! You think your angel would enjoy the bureaucracy of being an archangel?”

“My angel just wants to be able to hoard books and help people without being written up for it.” Crowley answers, though he does consider for a moment the possibility. “Unless you have someone up there that is close to Falling?”

“That would be Gabriel, his diligence is becoming obsession and madness.” Michael admits after a few moments of silence. “But that’s my job to worry about, not yours. Please let Aziraphale know that he’s officially in charge of the angelic Nephilim on Earth, that includes Raziel’s little experiments. You should also know that I have my eye on Aziraphale. Mother marked him after Adam and Eve were kicked from the Garden.”

“Marked him for what?” Crowley queries, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you mean? He was demoted for that whole debacle.”

“I wasn’t just asking about Aziraphale for the sake of asking. If one of the Seven falls, Aziraphale is the only one Above marked to take their place. Ithuriel was marked even as Jesus, as was Elijah, and Moses, the Fallen were marked before their Ascension, too.” Michael answers, sighing heavily into the phone. “There are mortals marked by Mother to become angels upon their deaths, but only one shines with the marker that means they will become of us.”

“What are you trying to tell me, sister?”

“One of us is going to fall, brother, and when that happens, Aziraphale will be the one to take their place. There will be _Eight _Princes and therefore, there will be _Eight _Archangels to oppose them.”

“You cannot be sure, sister.”

“I have always known who to promote because Mother left the markers. Only I have ever been able to see them, Lucifer has his own.”

“So, he’s always known who would Fall.” Crowley whispers, feels the shock rippling through him. The sigh Michael gives him is full of so many years of exhaustion and stress.

“Who, but not when and Lucifer thinks Free Will still plays a part. No matter how many times the markers are proven true.”

“I need to think about this. I’ll let Aziraphale know and we’ll find Merlin.”

“Before you go.” Michael calls desperately, just as Crowley is about to lob the phone across the room.

“What?”

“Did you know you have a… not-child of your own?” Michael asks, her voice shaking over the words, or perhaps _he_ is shaking.

“What?”

“You remember that nebula you and Gabe were so enamored with? You spent… well time had no meaning to us in those days, but you spent eternities there. What none of us knew is that Mother wrote a name there. Scattered in the stars you both loved so much. Do remember that, brother?”

“What does that have to do with anything, Michael?”

“The name. The name Mother wrote in the stars, the name no one speaks, the name no one is allowed to hear. It belongs to your child. They are not Nephilim, they are… something never seen before.” Michael answers and Crowley hears the fear in her voice for the first time since they started speaking of this, truly hears the fear now.

“Why are you afraid?”

“In our hierarchy, Nephilim are stronger than their parents by half. Adam and Merlin are strongest; stronger than Lucifer and me. But your son… your daughter… your… your child, they are _not_ Nephilim. You and I both know how easy it is to Fall, I fear for our universe if your child ever gives in.”

“Where are they? What is their name?” Crowley demands, his hand squeezing so tight around his phone he can feel the case staring to crack.

“You know where to look for their name, brother. As for finding them? No one knows. They show up when they are needed, and sometimes when they’re not.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Mother marked them. Not as an Angel-to-be, not as an Archangel-to-be. She marked them and I still do not know as what. But I was curious, I followed the child, learned what I could of them. They are the very best parts of you.” She says, before Crowley hears the connection break as the phone does.

Soon, the phone is shattering against the wall, and he’s burying his head in his hands as the life he thought he knew falls in around him.

* * *

Ragnor wakes with an annoyed groan for the fifth time, since a demon had tried to tear out his throat, and finds he is still surrounded by darkness, though this time his body has healed enough that he can actually move, reaching out above him to encounter something solid and singing of the earth. Wood, he finally decides.

“Oh, I wish people would stop burying me.” He mutters, pushing against the wood only for it not to budge even a single inch. He groans and sucks in a breath, believes with all of his might that his little coffin is full of so much air he’ll never run out. Then he closes his eyes tightly and calls for the fire that burns in his core. The wood turns to ashes almost immediately and then he’s choking on the dirt that collapses on top of him. “Magnus, why?” he whines, spitting out dirt and hastily forming a weak shield around his face, so he could continue to breathe as he does his best to scramble out of the dirt.

He shoves his hand up through the dirt and smiles when the cold air brushes against his palm, though he does almost scream when another hand grips his own and pulls. He’s not a fool, though, so he uses the momentum to help himself out. Once out of his own grave, he immediately rolls over to lie flat on the grass and breathe.

“Hello!” a far too exuberant voice greets him and he has to groan. The voice reminds him of Aziraphale, always so peppy.

“Hello.”

“Is it rude to ask why you were buried alive?” the voice questions, sounding genuinely uncertain and he laughs.

“Not rude at all.” He assures, opening one eye to look at the woman who is leaning over him. He takes in the blond hair, the billowing coat, the not-rainbow on their shirt, the blue pants, and the suspenders. “I like your outfit.”

“Oh, really? Thank you! It took a bit to find.” She replies, a beautiful smile lighting up her face. He thinks he’s seen that smile before somewhere. Then there is a moment, just a breath of a second, really, where her visage flickers and he sees an outline of wings at her back, before he blinks and its gone, just in time for him to tune back in to hear her speak again. “I like your clothes.”

“Oh, thank you.” He replies, before actually looking at himself and seeing just what clothing his dearest friend decided bury him in. “Actually, no, I take that back. This is my least favourite outfit. Magnus, why would you bury me in this, you cretin?” he hisses under his breath, as he brushes his hand over the nice suit and changes it. He’s intending something a little more like his usual laid back, but put together style, but instead lands with the simpler outfits he’d worn when he and Morgana were busy chasing Arthur all over Albion. He groans and throws his head back with a sigh, knowing it’ll take him a little while to settle back into his magic. “Excuse me, do you know what the date is?”

“I always know what day it is, me.” The woman answers and Ragnor watches as there is a very small glow in her eyes, easily missed if one isn’t looking for it. “November 14th, 2016.”

“I see.” He murmurs, has to keep his heart from just stopping in his chest, otherwise he’ll be beginning this entire ordeal all over.

“Are you alright? How long have you been in the ground?”

“A few months. You’re remarkably calm about this, do you often pull people out of graves?” he asks, looking up at her to watch the mirth that forms on her face.

“Not often, no. Been awhile since I had to help Jack out, but it happens sometimes.” She tells him, with a grin. “Plus, sometimes I’m the one being helped out of my supposed grave. I’m the Doctor, by the way.”

“Ah.” Ragnor exclaims, because that does actually explain a lot.

“Heard of me, then?” She asks, appearing suddenly bashful, he rolls his eyes.

“Hard not to, Doctor.” Ragnor answers, a slow smirk forming on his lips. “Once, a very long time ago, I was called Merlin.”

“Oh… Oh!! Sorry about that! Needs must and all that!” the Doctor quickly says, making soothing motions towards him.

“Oh, I don’t mind. Besides, it’s all in the past now, isn’t it?” he asks, looking her over. “What brings you to my humble abode, anyway?”

“My ship decided I needed to be here.” She replies, turning to glare across the field at the blue phonebox sitting innocently where it shouldn’t.

“Well, if you’re looking for a companion, I’m afraid you are out of luck.” He tells her, before narrowing his eyes. “But if you’re willing to give me a lift, I’d be very thankful.”

“Oh, where are you needing to go?” She asks, rocking back on her heels. “Anywhere in time and space. Although… I think Arthur might be a fixed point and-“

“He’ll be back when he’s ready. No, I was actually thinking of tracking my friend down and berating him for burying me when I _specifically _told him not to do that. Then I’m going to call Morgana and scream at her that her curse is most definitely _not _lifted even though she swore it was!” he hisses, angrily crossing his arms over his chest in what he does have to admit is a pout.

“Oh, I hate when that sort of thing happens.” The Doctor commiserates before holding her hand out to him. “Come on, then. Where do you think your friend will be?”

“New York.” He answers, letting the Doctor pull him to his feet. He grumbles at the pins and needles he feels in his legs but pushes through and follows the Doctor to the phonebox. “I’ll give you the address.”

* * *

Lorenzo is enjoying the soft music and the Old Fashioned as he reads through one of the tomes he’s been meaning to read for the last century, when the peace is interrupted by an odd whirling, whistling noise, and a blue box appears in the middle of the living room, right through his wards like they don't exist. His heart all but shrivels in his chest when he sees who steps out.

“R-Ragnor, uh, Magnus… told us you had passed on.” He stutters, looking at the millennia old warlock in front of him. The man looks like he is on a mission and Lorenzo has a very bad feeling he knows what that mission is. “M-Magnus isn’t here.”

“Why? And why are _you _here?” Ragnor queries, stepping into Lorenzo’s space. “You and Magnus cannot stand each other, why would he let you in his home while he’s absent?”

“It’s _my_ home, now.” Lorenzo replies, summoning up every ounce of courage he can lay claim to.

“I see. It might interest you to know that I gifted this home to Magnus. So, I’m very interested in hearing how you came to own it.” Ragnor’s words steal the breath from Lorenzo’s lungs. He’d been trying to teach Magnus a lesson, trying to put him in his place. Teach him that Magnus was no longer High Warlock but if he’d know the story behind the loft, he wouldn’t have even thought to demand it. Really, though, if he'd known Ragnor was still alive, he wouldn't have dared go against Magnus. Magnus Bane is _protected_.

“Magnus gave the loft to me in a deal.”

“I see.” Ragnor answers, turning away from him and Lorenzo dares to breathe, his heart racing in his chest. “What was the deal?”

“Well, that-that’s between Magnus and I.” he answers, swallowing thickly when the warlock turns to him, a calculating look in his eyes.

“I see.” The old warlock repeats for the third time and Lorenzo feels the panic rise. “How about you return ownership of the loft to Magnus and I won’t have Salazar recall you to the Spiral Labyrinth. You never completed your Mastery, did you? Isn't it your 500th birthday in a few decades?”

“You have no right!” he blusters, even though he knows that Ragnor has the only right. If there was a king amongst warlocks, Ragnor Fell is it.

“I know that the _only _reason Magnus would _ever _willingly give up this place, would be if he had absolutely no choice in the matter.” Lorenzo can’t help but flinch at the words. He’d known he’d been taking advantage when he demanded the loft, had known right down to his bones that if he and Magnus’ places were reversed, Magnus would have been only too happy to help him without demanding anything so drastic for payment. But he’d needed to make a point! “The fact you won’t tell me your deal, leads me to believe Magnus needed help and you decided to take advantage of that. If you give the loft back, I won’t cause you problems when I learn what the deal was.”

“Fine. I’ll give him back the loft.” He finally agrees, looking away from the old warlock. “I don’t know where he is, though.”

“Thank you for your time.” Ragnor says, giving a mocking little bow before he steps back into the phonebox and Lorenzo watches it disappear, utterly relieved not to have been turned into anything untoward.

* * *

“What was all that about?” the Doctor asks, an unhappy frown on her face. Ragnor sighs heavily and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve missed far too much since Magnus put me in the ground.” He admits with a heavy sigh. “I am the strongest of my kind, I think people have been taking advantage of my _friends_ in my time away.”

“Right and what is the Spiral Labyrinth?”

“It’s a school for our kind. When our kind turn eleven, they are sought out and trained at the school, if they don’t already have someone in place to act as a teacher. Once they graduate from the school, they’re one day expected to return to Master a specific art. If they do not return of their own volition by their five hundredth year, they are recalled to the school to complete their Mastery.” He explains, considering his options to find Magnus. Trying to remember what was happening the last time he saw his friend.

“You really are a wizard.”

“We call ourselves warlocks, these days.” He answers, with a grin. “I have another destination in mind, if you’d be kind enough to give me a lift.”

“Well, let’s do this.”

* * *

The liberal debate about who Crowley could possibly be is interrupted by an odd whirling noise and a blue police box appearing from nowhere. They all turn to look at the box in confusion (Magnus and the Shadowhunters) or curiosity (Aziraphale), though no one can quite figure out what to say. The unexpected silence is punctured by the door of the box opening and a too enthusiastic voice announcing-

“Oh, wow! I _love_ your tattoos!! I’d look good with tattoos… maybe? I’ll have to ask the Fam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is Crowley's. An entirely new species of Nephilim. Her name scrawled through the stars of the Medusa Cascade. She is the Doctor, a healer, the origin of the word for many planets out in the stars. The FIRST Healer for many of them, just as her father was the First Healer EVER.
> 
> Note on the angels. They don't REALLY have a gender. They kind of just ARE. To make things easy, they normally just go with whatever their corporation is, so if the corporation is female, they're female for their time in that corporation. Though, some of them like Belphegor don't even make that effort, they are just somewhere in between no matter what their corporation is.
> 
> Michael was absolutely fucking confused when she encountered Aziraphale as Crowley in Hell, because Aziraphale, even as Crowley, still had the Marker. So Michael was like 'wtf does this mean? Is Crowley going to fucking become an Archangel? MOTHER WTF ARE YOU SMOKING NOW?!?!?' so finding out it was actually Aziraphale is like a massive weight off her chest (mostly because she's like 'no, I can't handle both Crowley AND Aziraphale being Archangels. No, Mother, please!'


	12. What You're Keeping Out (Is On the Wrong Side of the Door)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor learns a truth, and Crowley remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my brother and I are playing Musical Laptop at the moment. It's my laptop and my Steam library, but letting him borrow my laptop to play my 300+ games means I get to enjoy peace and quiet from his whining for a bit so... don't know how active I'll be while this is happening, but I'm still writing this fic in my mind even when I can't write it on screen. Lol. ~no seriously, I'd like to be able to sleep at night and yet... ~
> 
> Title is Monsters by Sick Puppies

There is a buzzing in the back of her mind since she touched Merli-Ragnor, his name is Ragnor now. A buzzing that has been growing louder and louder since she tugged him from the earth. It’s become so loud she can barely focus, is only vaguely aware when Ragnor introduces her to the group who’d gathered in the shadow of the abandoned, yet not abandoned, run down, yet not rundown church. The flickering of the church between its intact and damaged states doesn’t help matters at all and the group aren’t helping her, either.

The two dark haired ones with the solid black runes that keep suddenly becoming golden.

The two blond haired ones with the black runes that keep suddenly becoming golden, the man also has a pair of white-gold wings to match the runes, and the girl has four wings, each wing struggling to determine what colour it wants to be, golden, then white, then the brightest blue the Doctor has ever seen, then black as pitch, then cycling through all the colours of the visible spectrum and then through them all over again.

The dark haired one with the red runes that keep suddenly becoming red-black, and his eyes flickering between golden cats eyes and chocolate brown, and he has six beautiful red-gold wings to match.

Then there’s the unassuming one, who keeps flickering between his harmless book-worm appearance and a terrifying visage of golden light shaped in a form she can't quite describe, with four shining white wings covered in thousands of blinking eyes.

Ragnor’s different now, too, when she looks at him, six beautiful golden wings appearing and disappearing behind him.

She clenches her eyes shut against the various sights that do _not _make sense. Time Lords have a hard-wired end to their regeneration cycle for a reason, perhaps this is why. Perhaps once you’ve regenerated a certain amount of times, you just… start to lose your entire mind.

“Doctor?” she hears one of the assorted lot query, and she opens her mouth to assure them that’s she fine, really, absolutely totally fine, nothing wrong with her. But what comes out is a scream as the noise in her mind suddenly becomes a roar as she feels someone’s hand fall on her shoulder, sending fire sparking throughout her body. It feels like Regeneration only it doesn’t, something fundamentally different about it, but at the foundation it’s all the same.

Distantly, she’s aware of her knees hitting the grass, of the hand receding quickly like they’re the ones who have been burned. She groans, clutching her head in her hands and tries to breathe through the roaring in her mind that is not just sound now, but pain. Pain she is familiar with, pain she remembers feeling when she’d sealed Donna’s mind after the Meta-Crisis. There is something in her memories, in her mind, that is threatening to be known or to burn her up in the attempt.

She feels gentle hands resting on her shoulders, different from the one before. She hears a familiar voice calling to her and she forces herself to open her eyes, only to become absolutely certain that she is losing her mind, because there, staring back at her, is her Tenth Face, speaking with the same voice, the only difference is the hair -_ginger_-, the wings -black- and the eyes. Serpentine eyes that she’s certain she has seen before but never on that face.

She hisses under her breath and is suddenly reminded of herself as a child, running around and looking into every mirror that she could find so she could admire her pretty eyes in her reflection and laugh as she flicked her forked tongue out to scent the air. The memory is immediately followed by one of six wings -black with golden sparkles- sprouting from her back when she’s seven and the absolute horror written all over her mother’s face. She remembers the frantic whispers about keeping her wings and her eyes and her tongue hidden away by the glamours she learnt to cast all by herself when she was four, remembers being told she could never let anyone find out that her father wasn’t a Time Lord.

But she remembers not wanting to hide.

She remembers her mother invading her mind, locking away everything that made her different, that made her not like her mother’s people. Burying the knowledge of her magic and her eyes and her tongue and her wings behind so many layers of protection in her mind that it would take… a miracle for her to remember.

She remembers standing looking into the Time Vortex and feeling like for the first time she belongs, feels the Vortex reaching out for her, calling to her, and she remembers running. Running and trying to never look back.

“Who are you?” she demands, as she wrenches herself from the memories. She wants answers of the person in front of her, wearing her Tenth face and eyes.

“I’m Crowley. You can thank me later for making sure your head didn’t explode.” He tells her, a familiar smirk on his lips. “You’re welcome.”

“Why do you have my face?” she queries, when he moves to pull away, he pauses, a familiar frown forming.

“It was my face _first_, thank you very much. Besides, I don’t see your name on it.” He replies, petulantly and she laughs, the sound hysteric and disbelieving and he just sighs. “Genetics can be a bit of a bitch.”

“Genetics?” she asks, now it’s her turn to frown, but she thinks she already knows who this person is.

“Eh, you’re the first, and as far as I know, the only one of your kind. So, all I can assume is genetics.” He answers, shrugging his shoulders. “Nice to see the best features came out, though. Michael wasn’t lying about that.” She blinks at him in confusion until she finds herself looking into a mirror, her beautiful serpentine eyes staring back at her for the first time since she was a child.

“Oh.” She exclaims, catches sight of three sets of beautiful black-gold wings splayed out behind her and she grins, experimentally fluttering her feathers.

* * *

Crowley’s staring at the name scrawled through the stars of the Medusa Cascade when he feels Aziraphale brush against the back of his mind, a single word repeated, before the brush is gone.

_Help. _

He sighs and looks just one more time at the name, the name he knows he can never speak, the name he knows he will never hear, before he turns away. He flies back to Earth in a matter of moments, landing at Aziraphale’s side. He finds the group gathered around a young woman, kneeling on the earth, her hands clutching desperately at her hair, as she glows with celestial fire, the fire of creation. The fire that floods through Aziraphale every minute of every day. The fire he’d once been able to hold in his hands and force into shape. The fire of Creation.

There is absolutely no doubt in his mind who this child is. Even without the magic in his core reaching out for her, he would know her.

“What happened? Who is she?” he demands of Zira, who is looking back and forward between him and the girl, and that’s something else he’s going to have to come clean about, even though he’s only known for maybe an hour. But he thinks he remembers her mother, that’s not a hard task, since he can still remember every mortal he’s ever deigned to take to bed. But _she_ was special.

_“It’s such a waste.” He hears a woman saying, her voice thick with sadness, the same sadness he feels right down to his immortal soul. The pair of them looking over the ocean that has swallowed the Earth. Bodies still floating in the water, not all of them human, not all of them grown. “Just an absolute waste.”_

They’d found a dry spot on what would become the tallest mountain in the world when the waters receded, that then had been the only visible piece of land for miles around. They’d sat and talked and at some point, she’d pulled out a little bag, and from the bag she’d pulled out a seemingly endless supply of alcohol, some of which he could swear tasted of Time and hadn’t been invented yet. When he’d broached that with her, she’d laughed, and winked at him. His memories had stopped a little after that, until he found himself waking up on a ship that sang with the Story of Time and Space and he finally had realized just what she was. Time Keeper, those who had stepped in to take his place when he’d Fallen. Those who his Mother had Created to watch over Time and Space as he was supposed to. 

“I’m not really sure. She just collapsed. Uhm, her name is the Doctor.” Zira’s voice pulls him from his thoughts and he sighs, pushing his memories of her away. There hadn’t been love, but they’d watched the world end around them, their hearts filled with so much sorrow, they’d just wanted to be close to someone who felt the ache the same way they did.

“Right.” He mutters, kneeling down in front of the Doctor and resting his hands on her shoulder, telling himself the fire will not burn him, it never has before. He tries not to let her title fill him with pride but it _does. _Michael had said she was all of the best parts of him, perhaps his sister hadn’t been lying. “Doctor?” he calls softly to her, waits until she opens her eyes and looks at him and it takes everything that he is not to pull away when he finds his own eyes staring back. She hisses at him and he’s certain he caught a glimpse of a forked tongue, then she’s closing her eyes and turning her head away from him as three pairs of wings begin to unfold from her back. Crowley stairs at them, his breath caught in his throat. She has his wings, the wings that burned away in the Fall and never came back.

He and Gabriel had been so fascinated with the stars, Gabriel more so than he had ever been, but their fascination had taken root. He and Gabriel had placed the light of stars within their eyes, even today his brother’s eyes still glow that ethereal colour. He’d lost the stars in his Fall, the light warping, changing to reflect the serpent that original star cluster would one day be named after. They’d spent so long amongst the stars, their Mother had remade their wings to reflect the night sky, black with sparkling gold. He’d lost those wings in the Fall, too.

He conjures a mirror, and holds it up to her, so she can see the changes that have overcome her and he doesn’t really know what to except, but her joy is palpable and so utterly unexpected. He watches her flutter her wings and he remembers when Adam’s wings had come in and how scared but excited the Anti-Christ had been. He glances at Magnus, a frown forming on his face as he realizes that Asmodeus’ son has never asked about his own wings or about flying lessons. He wonders if Magnus even knows he _has _wings, they’d certainly not featured in his book about Magical Travel as more than just a footnote here and there. He should probably deal with that sooner rather than later.

“What are you?” he hears her ask, isn’t sure if she means to ask the question or not, given how little she actually appears to be present in the moment, but he shrugs his shoulders and answers the question anyway.

“I’m a Fallen Angel.”

“Oh.” He watches her process that and is distracted by movement behind him, he turns to find Magnus dragging Ragnor away further into the park, an annoyed look on his face. Crowley wonders if he’ll have to keep an eye on that before he remembers what Michael had told him and he grins, turning to his angel.

“Hey, angel. Michael’s decided you’re in charge of the angelic Nephilim down here. That includes that one,” he says pointing to Ragnor, with a grin. “And those ones.” he continues, inclining his head towards the Shadowhunters who are looking back and forward between the two groups as if they’re not really sure what they should be doing.

“Oh, goody.” Aziraphale mutters, before heading over to keep an eye on Ragnor and Magnus, particularly since Magnus is not supposed to be using his magic and Ragnor looks like he’s just dug himself out of the ground, _again_.

“What am I?” the Doctor asks, pulling his attention back, he shrugs his shoulders.

“Like I said, you’re the first of your kind. A hybrid, Time Keeper and Fallen Angel. If your mother had been human, we’d call you a Nephilim, but I don’t know what to call you.” He tells her, wonders if her mother’s people are still out there, he hasn’t heard much of their meddling for years. The only names repeatedly coming back are the Doctor and the Master and don’t the titles just tell you everything you need to know?

“You’re my father.” She whispers, he can tell she already knows the answer but has to give the words a voice.

“Yeah.” He replies, with a sigh. “Only found out about an hour ago, but what is time to the likes of us?”

“Nothing and yet, everything.”

“The maker and breaker of all.” He answers, before looking behind her, seeing the blue box that calls to him the way her mother’s tent had. A phone box that is not a phone box. A ship that contains the heart of Time and Space. He closes his eyes and lets himself remember what it had been like to hold all the power of Time and Space in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is a Cherub, who was demoted to a Principality. He keeps his wings and his true form even though he's demoted. Cherubs in this verse have four wings.  
Archangels have six wings, so do their children.  
Alec and Izzy are nephilim, they have angel blood but it's so diluted they don't have wings.  
Jace and Clary are Nephilim, angel blood that is so pure they have inherited the wings, though they're still not True Born Nephilim, so Clary gets four wings and no set colour because Lucifer's wings never could decide what they wanted to be (Adam has six wings and the colour problem).  
Magnus has six wings, though he doesn't know he has them. They take longer to come in than any of the powers the Nephilim have, and while Adam EXPECTED to have wings, Magnus absolutely did NOT, so his never manifested on the physical/visible plain but they are there.
> 
> Gabriel and Raphael were entrusted by the Almighty to be the Keepers of Time. But when Raphael Fell, She took that task off them both and created the Time Keepers, who became Time Lords/Ladies as time went on and they forgot (were made to forget) their origins.
> 
> Also, I'll probably go into this later but... Regeneration Energy is the Fire of Creation, the Heavenly Fire. Cherubim are imbued with this power, and it gives them the ability to wield their flaming swords. The Doctor will never run out of faces, she will always regenerate, and because she is both mother and father to Jenny, Jenny has the same ability, but I don't think Jenny will make an appearance... she might get name dropped, though. :P 
> 
> You'll learn about Ragnor (and why he's not all surprised to be alive when he absolutely did die) next chapter, hopefully :)


	13. Give Me Wings, Give Me Peace (These Are the Things That I Need)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a timeskip coming for the next chapter and I'm excited for it... O.O But I also think there is one or two chapters left of this fic (then like as many One Shots as I feel like writing for what our individual groups are getting up to...)
> 
> Also, I'm not happy with this chapter, but as usually happens, if I don't post it now I'll never post it, lol.
> 
> Title is from Salt In the Snow by Classic Crime

“You died in my arms!” Magnus hisses at Ragnor when they’re far enough away from the others, he feels the hitch in the beating of his heart and he swallows the sob that threatens to tear from his throat. He’s lost people before, all throughout his life, but Ragnor and Cat are _special. _They’re a trio, a trinity. They always have been. They’ve never been just Magnus, Cat, and Ragnor, they’ve always been MagnusCatRagnor, their names said together in the same breath. Where one is, you could always be relied upon to find the others, too, and that was true even when they all three lived in different corners of the world. They’ve been in each other’s orbit for centuries, circling around and around and always coming back.

Losing Ragnor was like someone cutting his heart out of his chest.

_“You died in my arms!!” _

“I know.” His friend replies, rubbing a hand over his face and looking far more exhausted than Magnus can remember him ever being. “Look, I was cursed a very, very, _very_ long time ago. Before you were even born. I die, but I never stay dead. It’s a two-fold curse.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, his voice breaking with the hurt he feels at the thought that his best friend couldn’t trust him with this secret.

“I told you not to bury me.” Ragnor answers with a sigh. “If I’d told you I was immortal in the truest sense of the word, would you have believed me?”

“I don’t know.” He admits, shaking his head, because he doesn’t. That sort of immortality is… _old. _That sort of curse magic is so ancient, his father had even refused to teach it to him, and his father normally did not shy away from such magics. He doesn’t know if he’d have believed it if Ragnor had tried to tell him before. “How old are you?”

“I’m very old, Magnus.” His friend answers, and Magnus can see it, can see the age in his eyes and the way an invisible weight seems to rest on his shoulders. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to miss it all these years, because thinking back over the years with his friend, he sees it in his memories, too. “I was once called Merlin.”

“Oh.” Magnus whispers, his legs suddenly feeling so incredibly weak beneath him he wonders for a moment if the Strength rune has faded. Ragnor is quick to reach out and grab him, keeping him steady even though he feels like the foundations of his world have shifted. He clings tightly to Ragnor’s forearms, he thinks it’s to steady him as well as to assure himself again that Ragnor is _here. _“Cat? Does she know?”

“She knows I was Merlin; she doesn’t know about the curse. So, she doesn't know I'm alive.”

“Who cursed you?” he queries, feeling somewhat pleased to know that Cat is in the dark almost as much as he was. Then again, Cat was always far more observant than he has ever been.

“Mordred and Morgana, though Morgana was half out of her mind with grief at the time, so I cannot blame her. I… wasn’t much better.” His friend admits, sighing heavily and shaking his head.

“Mordred was real, too? I thought that he, at least, was just a story?” Magnus queries, looking down and finding that he has yet to let go of Ragnor, he doesn’t know if he wants to let go.

“He was also real. Although, despite what the stories say, he was not Arthur’s son.” Ragnor explains, his eyes glistening in a way Magnus has only seen at the rarest of times. “He was mine. Mine and Morgana’s, but he turned against Arthur, and I had no choice but to…” His friend cuts himself off, shaking his head and pulling away from Magnus as he turns away. “Arthur is my _king; _I swore so many oaths to him I had already started to lose track by the time he died. It wasn’t even a choice. And so, with his dying breath, Mordred cursed me, and his mother cursed me, too. So, now you know.”

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, but his friend just snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Honestly, you weren’t even _born _yet, Magnus. Why do I always have to remind you not to apologize for things that aren’t your fault?” Ragnor replies, but Magnus just huffs.

“I meant I feel sorrow for you, not that _I’m_ sorry.” He replies, shaking his head. “I miss when you could say ‘I’m sorry’ and it was understood that it meant you felt sorrow, not that you were claiming blame.”

“Languages change all the time, my friend.” Ragnor answers, looking towards Crowley and the mysterious new woman. “I’d say I wonder whose child she is, but the eyes just absolutely give her away.” He murmurs, causing Magnus to turn and look, really look, he snorts at the sight.

“Go Crowley! Wouldn’t have thought… he’s been gone on Azzy since _forever.” _he exclaims, shaking his head, Ragnor laughs and hums.

“The temptations of the flesh, Magnus, you above all should know about that.”

“Oh, hush!”

“If your father is Prince of Lust but a King of Hell, does that make you also a Prince of Lust? Or a Duke of Lu- ow!” Ragnor hisses when he zaps him with lightning.

“I suppose you’re Nephilim, too?” Magnus asks, pulling his eyes away from the woman with the bright smile and Crowley’s eyes. “Wait, she has wings.”

“We _all_ have wings.” Ragnor replies, amused. “And yes, I’m Nephilim.”

“We do _not _all have wings! I do not have wings!” he argues, emphatically, absolutely certain that he would know if he had wings.

“I wondered why you ever bothered inventing portals.” Ragnor murmurs, sounding like something he’s been puzzling over for a long time has finally slotted into place. “Here, look.” And Magnus does, in time to watch six beautiful golden wings extend themselves from Ragnor’s back, fluttering experimentally. Magnus can’t help the fact that his jaw drops in surprise, before a frown forms on his face.

“But_ I_ don’t have wings.” He pouts, looking at Ragnor’s wings with something he’s horrified to note is _envy_. He shoots a look Crowley’s way, wondering if the demon has anything to do with that, but Crowley appears to only have eyes for his… daughter.

“Magnus, you silly lad, of _course_, you have wings!” Ragnor exclaims, sounding so tired it almost gives Magnus pause.

“But-“

“Okay, idiot boy. Close your eyes. No-no-no, stop looking at me like that and. Close. Your. Eyes.” Ragnor demands, Magnus scowls at him but obeys, closing his eyes with an annoyed huff. “Good. Now imagine wings extending from your back. Six beautiful, perfectly functional, and feathery wings.” Magnus grumbles but does as his friend commands, his frown deepens when he feels like the skin on his back is shifting. “Open your eyes.” Magnus hesitates for just a single moment, before he obeys, opening his eyes. He raises an eyebrow at his friend then turns to look over his shoulder and feels his knees suddenly give out beneath him, Ragnor’s hand once more gripping tightly to his wrist and holding him up.

“They’re beautiful.” He whispers, hears the awe in his own voice. His wings _are_ beautiful, red and gold intermingling, they look like what he imagines a phoenix’ wings would look like.

“Trust the Prince of Lust to have breath-taking wings, like fire. They do say lust is a burning…”

“Oh, shut up!” Magnus exclaims, but he can’t help the grin that refuses to budge from his face.

He has wings!

“Alexander! Look, I have pretty wings!!” he feels like he’s a little child again, discovering some new mystery of the world, he can’t even describe the happiness he feels.

“Yeah, I can see them, Magnus.” He hears Alec’s reply, though his lover sounds _very_ faint and when he looks to Alec, he finds him leaning against Izzy and looking at Magnus’ wings like they’re the most amazing thing in the world.

“Don’t you _dare_ leave the ground, child!” he hears Aziraphale snap at him and he giggles, unable to keep the happiness inside. “I mean it! I’m not going to be catching you if you shoot off into the air and aren’t able to fly immediately. I've had enough of that with Adam!”

“Red Bull gives you wings!” Clary proudly announces and he laughs at her, until Ragnor clears his throat.

“You and Jace also have wings.”

“What the who, what, now?” Jace yells, and Magnus laughs harder, truly falling to his knees this time, unable to contain himself or the hysteria. His life has become like the story books, spiraling ever out of his control.

He thinks, this time, it’s for the better.

* * *

Crowley startles at the laughter behind them and turns to find Magnus kneeling on the ground laughing uncontrollably, his _beautiful _wings fluttering unhappily behind him. Asmdoeus' wings, from before his fall. Love, Passion, Pleasure, they all can considered to be like 'burning', just as Lust can, and Anael had always been so very proud of his wings.

“Oh, great. What have I missed?” he mutters, debating the pros of getting to his feet, until he hears a laugh and turns to the Doctor, his… _daughter!_

“Why do we all have wings?” she asks, and he huffs.

“I should just write a book, honestly! Ooh, Zira would love that!” he exclaims, glancing towards his angel who is anxiously trying to figure out if there is anything that he can do to help Magnus or if the boy is alright to just… panic. He smiles at the sight and shakes his head.

“No really, why? Is everyone here a Fallen Angel… or a child of a Fallen Angel?” the Doctor queries and Crowley makes a face.

“What am I supposed to call you? And do not say ‘Doctor’ because that is a title!”

“I’ve gone by John in the past.” The Doctor admits, before frowning, her face scrunching up in a way that reminds him of himself. “No, that doesn’t work anymore, does it? Joan? Yeah, let’s go with Joan.” She replies and he snorts, only causing her frown to deepen. “What?”

“God is Gracious.” He murmurs, watches the Doctor’s mouth form into a surprised O and he rolls his eyes. “Never mind, it’s true.”

“Sticking with it!” _Joan _announces and Crowley just grins.

“Good. Now, I should go and figure out what’s happening over there. Oh, and everyone has wings because they’re either your cousins, or like that one over there, an actual unfallen angel.” He explains, nodding his head towards Aziraphale. “Those ones over there are technically cousins as well, but they’re like so far removed it _barely _counts.” He continues, nodding at Isabelle and Alec who are busy staring at Clary and Jace who are walking around each other in circles, examining each other’s wings.

“How come she gets _four!? _And how come Magnus gets _six?” _they hear Jace whine, Crowley just laughs.

He’s really going to have to write that book.

* * *

“You know…” Isabelle murmurs to Alec, while they’re watching the winged beings around them discuss the topic of wings, why they have them, why some of them have more than the others, and why they each have different colours. “I’m really hoping one of them remembered to do some magic or whatever to keep Mundanes from looking this way because otherwise…”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Alec exclaims, looking around the darkening park, before shrugging. “Too late now and I’m too tired to worry about it.” He mutters, snuggling into his sister’s side and closing his eyes. The days since Jonathan’s defeat had been long, filled with cleaning up the messes he’d caused and worrying endlessly about Izzy and about Magnus and now things were looking up, Alec just wants to lay his head down and rest for a decade.

“Mmm. None of you guys said, why’s my future Brother-in-law covered in runes?”

“To help him heal. He’s in a really bad way at the moment and Crowley’s the biggest mother hen I’ve ever met.” He mutters with a heavy sigh. “Crowley’s going to teach me to be a healer.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. He was Raphael, before he fell.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And… have you talked to Magnus? About the ring?” Izzy queries, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice.

“He said no.” the words fall out of his lips before he even has a chance to think.

“I doubt that very much, Alec.” Izzy replies, shaking her head, Alec knows she’s right but a maybe is still not a yes.

“I didn’t really ask him, anyway. But he said he might say yes, one day. He said it doesn’t feel right.”

“A lot has happened since you decided you were going to ask, Alec. You just have to give him time. He probably doesn’t even realize why it feels wrong, but you broke his heart, that’s not just going to be fixed in a matter of days, no matter what either of you say.”

"But-"

"When Jace almost stabbed you through the heart, did you suddenly get better? Even with Catarina and the Silent Brothers helping you?" his little sister demands and he huffs, looking away from her. "You might have stabbed him through the heart with words, not an arrow, but the damage is the same."

“Yeah, I know.” He answers, opening his eyes to look up at the stars above. “I just wish…”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Give him time.”

“He can have all the time he needs.” He promises, closing his eyes again. “How do you feel about taking over the Institute?”

“I don’t really want to, but I’ve seen the writing on the wall. If you want out, I’ll step up.”

“I’ve picked him, Izzy. I picked him and I was trying to juggle between him and the Clave, but he already won, he won all those months ago, I just needed time to figure that out. He’s everything and I won’t let anything else come between us.” He explains, swallowing so many things that he wants to say but can’t find the words for. “I’m becoming a healer for him; in the hopes it’ll lead to immortality. I’m never leaving him again.”

“Good. I'll kick your stupid ass if you hurt him again!" Izzy declares and he frowns at her until she grins. "As far as I'm concerned, I gained a brother the day you decided to make out with the Hot High Warlock of Brooklyn in front of the highest ranking members of the Clave." 

"Right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, angel wings. 
> 
> Each of the Demonic Nephilim(and whatever the Doc is) inherited their angelic parent's wings the way they were before the fall.  
Magnus gets beautiful wings of (almost) literal fire that represented Anael's duty over Love, Passion, Pleasure etc.  
The Doctor gets Raphael's black/gold wings that represent the night sky, and Time/Space that he and Gabriel were tasked with watching over  
Adam gets six beautiful wings that frequently end up being different colours, and never seem to settle on any one colour in particular, representative of Samael's duty over judgement, that good and evil can come in any colour.  
Salazar has beautiful, fluffy white swallow's wings to represent Remiel's duty over hope.  
Ned has beautiful black swan's wings tipped with white, representing Raguel's duty over balance.  
Morgana has doves wings that glow so brightly none can stand to stare at them for long, they represent Barachiel's duty over blessings  
Rincewind has black Huia wings representing Jegudiel's duty over praise


	14. And When I Pray to God, All I Ask is (Can Beauty Come Out of Ashes)?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of this fic, but not this series. This chapter was really hard to write, and I don't know why!!!
> 
> Additional note. The entire Heavenly and Hellish Family have decided that the Doctor is a title, and they don't really go in for that much, so they've decided they're going to call The Doctor Joan. She's pretty much decided she's fine with it, especially since she pretty much chose it.
> 
> Chapter title is from AShes by Celine Dione

In the weeks following the reunions in the shadow of the New York Institute, things begin to change. Magnus allows himself time to heal, if only because he’s so distracted with the possibilities now open to him because of his wings and his new knowledge. Alec steps down from the Institute and trails after Crowley like a good apprentice should.

Crowley finds the time to converse with his siblings more, mostly nagging Gabriel about this or that, out of concern that his twin should Fall. Such a thing would throw them all out of balance. There were Two in the beginning, but they were quickly followed by Two more, and only _much _later were there Three more. When things began to change, Two fell and Two stayed. He does not know what would happen if there was only to be One above and Three below. So, he talks to the bane of his existence, and not the literal Bane that has taken up so much of his time recently.

Gabriel, of course, is as cooperative as he has always been, that is to say, not at all.

Michael takes time to visit, as does Lucifer, though they both appear in secret and swear that they have never left their designated posts. It is one such visit that eases Crowley’s mind.

“Lucifer, I have been meaning to ask.” Michael starts and Crowley groans, leaning forward to rest his face on the table, not reacting when his brother shoves him in the shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Who is the Eighth?” Michael asks, and Crowley is sure he gives himself whiplash with how quickly he sits up, looking between the two. “Gabriel worries me.”

“I won’t tell you who it is, only to say that it is _not _Gabriel.” Lucifer answers, raising an eyebrow when Michael looks like she wants to argue. “I don’t ask _you_ who is marked.”

“No, but it doesn’t affect you.” Michael answers with an annoyed huff. “And I’ve told you who the Eighth is on our side.”

“Only because you got drunk, sweet sister.” Lucifer replies, before turning to Crowley with a raised eyebrow. “How is your protegee.”

“He’s a lovesick fool, but he’s surprisingly very good at healing.” Crowley answers with a little sigh, before he pauses, turning to look at his sister, whose lips twitch as she raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Is he marked?” Crowley asks, sitting up straight in his chair, like a snake poised to strike.

“Which answer do you want?” Michael asks, leaning forward towards him and cocking her head to the side.

“You know.” He answers, instead of rising to her bait. She sighs and slumps back in her chair.

“Yes, he’s marked, so is his sister.” She sighs, before frowning up at the ceiling. “And his little brother, and the woman he nearly married.”

“So many?” Lucifer asks, cocking his head to the side and looking at their sister like she is a puzzle he has yet to solve.

“Shadowhunters are routinely marked at birth. Sometimes, they lose their mark by the time they have crossed over.” Michael answers, only here Lucifer snorts and rolls his eyes.

“That’s because they pick up my mark, instead.” Lucifer explains, a scowl forming on his face. “Lux’s descendants are an absolute pain in the ass!”

“Oh, did you end up with Valentine and Jonathan?” Crowley asks, suddenly incredibly interested. “I hope you’ll confine them to Hell; we do not need their bullshit back up here. Actually!” he exclaims, feeling viciously gleeful. “What are their names now?”

“They don’t have any, _yet_.” Lucifer answers with an annoyed hiss.

“Hmm.” Crowley considers his options, licking at his lips before he realizes he’s overthinking things. “I, Leviathan, Ruler of Earth, declare the beings once known as Valentine and Jonathan Morgenstern to be _banished _from Earth. They set foot upon this plain under _immediate_ threat of _Death._”

“Oh, well, Azrael will be pleased by that.” Michael says, frowning at him. “Maybe she’ll forgive you for the whole Thwarted Apocalypse thing.”

“Oh, she can’t blame me for _that! _Adam and his little friends took care of the Horsemen!” he exclaims, shaking his head.

“Well, she doesn’t much like being stabbed.” Lucifer points out, only to get a laugh from his siblings. “I’m serious, she came by to bitch at me about it, because apparently _I _am also to blame for Adam.” He says with a sulk. “Wasn’t even my stupid idea!”

* * *

“It’s really stupid, but I missed this place so much.” Magnus whispers, curling into Alec’s side and looking around his restored bedroom. Lorenzo had sent him a fire message explaining the loft was his once again, then Ragnor had disappeared with _Joan _for a few hours and come back to announce that the loft was exactly as it had been the moment that he and Alec left it. Magnus is only a little ashamed to admit that he’d cried and hugged Ragnor to within an inch of this life. "It was the only place I had, where I felt like Ragnor was still here." 

The loft was one of the last gifts Ragnor had given him. Truthfully, Magnus is rich enough to purchase any property in the world that he wants, and he owns _plenty. _But the loft is _special_, because in those first few years in New York, when he felt like his heart was just going to burst in his chest and he’d bleed out, Ragnor had given him the loft and layered it with so many protections that Magnus had felt like it was finally safe for him to let his guard down and _heal_. Of course, Ragnor had stripped those protections away later, when Magnus had asked, but he’d never forget the protection the loft had offered him. When he thought Ragnor was dead, the loft had been the only thing of Ragnor’s that had mattered, and in the end, he gave it away like it was nothing. It was, and remains, _everything_.

“I’m gonna punch Lorenzo in the face!” Alec admits, tightening his arm around Magnus, who sighs.

“I believe your Healers Vows prevent that sort of thing, love.” He murmurs, resting his face on Alec’s chest. “First, do no harm and all that nonsense.”

“I swore to heal whenever it was asked of me. I didn’t swear not to punch people’s lights out.” Alec points out, a vicious satisfaction in his voice. “I am, after all, still a soldier.”

“Mmm, good point.” Magnus replies, reaching up to grip the Lightwood family ring hanging from a chain around his neck. “Max keeps asking when I’m going to become his brother for real.” He says, a frown pulling at his lips. “I don’t really know what to tell him.”

“Well, at the moment, it’s not really any of his business.” Alec answers, sighing heavily and rubbing at his face. “I told you, when _you _are ready, I’m here.”

“Joan keeps telling me not to waste my chance.” Magnus points out, thinking of his strange cousin, who is already beginning to grow on him like fungus. 

“I think she’s even more used to losing people than you are, Magnus.”

“Yeah, I know, but she’s not wrong.” Magnus points out, fiddling with the ring, a thoughtful frown on his face. “It’s not like if I say yes, I have to marry you this instant. Long engagements are a thing.”

“Well, make it simple then. Do you want to marry me at all?” Alec queries, pulling them both up into a sitting position, Magnus turns to look at him.

“Yes.” he answers, rolling his eyes. He'd have given the ring back by now if he didn't want to marry Alec at all. 

“Do you want to get married _now?” _

“No.” He answers far quicker than he means to, but the idea of rushing off to get married now still doesn't sit right with him, makes him feel queasy and breathless in a way that he could never fool himself into thinking was normal or good.

“But in the future?”

“Yes.”

"Well, then, Magnus Bane, will you marry me… _eventually?” _Alec asks, waggling his eyebrows, Magnus can't help but snort.

“Yes.”

“So, now we’re engaged.” Alec says, a smug little grin on his face that just makes Magnus laugh.

After months of having one tragedy after a catastrophe after an apocalypse, for the first time since Clary Fray came back into his life and threw it all into chaos, he feels at peace. It’s a feeling he’s become unfamiliar with, but he decides he will grab hold of it with both hands and not let go.

So, he does the only logical thing, and pulls his fiancé into a heavy kiss, as if his life depends on it.

It just might.

* * *

Aziraphale spends the time after the reunion teaching Isabelle how to control the little bit of Holy Fire that will forever flow through her veins. He, of course, is the best person to teach her, since he is a Cherubim, and Cherubim wield Holy Fire with ease. What he doesn’t know until later, is that Isabelle has been marked since her birth for this very thing. When she dies, the Almighty will shape her soul into a Cherubim, and she will be commanded to Guard Earth, taking over for Aziraphale himself, who will rise to become one of the Eight Archangels, and Archangel of Earth.

But that’s another story.

* * *

Ragnor, Salazar, and Morgana spend their time teaching _Joan_ and Adam everything they need to know about their powers, though Joan consistently surprises all of them, including herself, by doing and creating things that no one before her has ever accomplished. When she learns that her name _truly is_ scattered in the Medusa Cascade, she all but kidnaps Crowley and takes him there to show her how to see. How to break through the final barrier her mother placed upon her and _see _her name in the stars.

At which point, she begins to cry and her father quickly slips away, exclaiming that he doesn’t do crying, it’s _messy. _Of course, Joan isn’t alone for very long, since Ragnor appears and announces that he is apparently in charge of being a shoulder for his cousins to cry on.

Joan takes him up on the offer, and they spend the next three thousand years cruising around the universe -Real Time- and dropping in for visits with their Fam and friends every few weeks - Earth Time-.

Which is how Joan is there when Ragnor comes across someone he’s been waiting for, for centuries, and she all but screams at Arthur-who-is-no-longer, when she figures it out.

“Your friend is a bit tetchy.” Arthur-who-is-no-longer stage whispers to Ragnor, who laughs and nods his head, though he's still busy staring at Arthur-who-is-no-longer. When they had told him Arthur would be the Once and Future King, that he would return one day, Ragnor had assumed they meant Arthur as he had been. But they didn't meant that at all, they meant Reincarnation. 

“You’ll understand why, one day.” Ragnor promises, then he steals a desperate kiss, before pulling away. “Looks like you’ll be the one chasing me through life, this time.” He teases, thinking over everything his cousin has accidentally imparted to him about this man, and finding it ironic that they each appear to share the same curse. Though, Ragnor wonders if that has anything to do with the vows he'd sworn to Arthur all those thousands of years ago. "Take your time." 

“Merlin!” Arthur-who-is-no-longer whines, but Ragnor just grins and steps away from him.

“It’ll be worth it, I think. And I go by Ragnor, now.” He answers, before turning to check on his cousin, sighs when he sees her angrily stomping around the courtyard. He turns back to Arthur-who-is-no-longer and gives a mocking salute. “I’ll be seeing you in the future, Mr. Face of Boe, and what a beautiful face!” He says, before turning to go and wrangle his cousin back onto her ship so she can take him home.

He has a Once and Future King to wait for.

* * *

Jace and Clary are officially marked as MIA from the Institute for the entire three months following the reunion. They spend the time flying all over the planet, and later, when they realize, the Milky Way. Jace, still vaguely romance-phobic surprises them both when he proposes to Clary while they’re investigating the rings of Saturn. Clary, of course, says yes.

When they return to Earth, Clary tries her best to paint everything that she has seen on her trip, she’s more than a little successful at doing it justice. 

Then, she and Izzy bind their souls together in the way of Parabatai.

* * *

Lorenzo encounters Andrew while visiting the Institute, like all the silly clichés, it is lust and love at first accusation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Jack Harkness is actually Arthur reincarnated. These two fucking douchebags have been lowkey missing each other through the years... Jack also doesn't know that Joan is the Doctor, because Ragnor beat her to introductions, and introduced her as 'this is my cousin, Joan.' and Jack didn't see the TARDIS in this first meeting.


End file.
